


Tearing at the Threads

by 1lostone



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Zine: KiSCon, possessive vulcans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Jim crash-land on a planet, and Jim (rather predictably) is hurt, forcing Spock to confront certain truths that can't <i>possibly</i> be logical.</p><p>Edit: November 2017- I took out the extra spaces. Sorry- I didn't realize they looked so bad on mobiles until someone pointed it out to me. If you see anything else that I goofed, please let me know!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tearing at the Threads

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There is a lot that went into this fic, and please forgive a quick note of thanks. First, as always, to my friend Jen, who first encouraged me to write for a zine... and a K/S zine at that. I’m still about 98% terrified, but we’re going to ride with it and see what happens. Second, to my beta, FoxyK who is simply amazing. She makes me look like I can write. And lastly, [kaylennz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylennz/pseuds/kaylennz), from whom I found the [prompt on the lj kink meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1779476#t1779476). :) THANK YOU <3.
> 
> Warnings: This is Reboot, with various TOS elements thrown in. Slightly atypical descriptions of violence, Probably all the Trek tropes in this and any connecting galaxy, possessive, jealous Vulcans, inadvertent voyeurism (is it still voyeurism if the person seeing is not turned on by what they see?), slight bit of angst, and Snarky Vulcans.
> 
> Notes: Vulcan taken from the [VLD](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/).
> 
> * * *

**  
**  


**Part One**

“Spock?”

The whimper of sound was the barest whisper of breath. Hearing it set Spock’s heartbeat thudding crazily in his side. He glanced quickly down at the burden in his arms, eyes skating over Jim’s prone form with practiced skill.

Jim’s forehead had a star-shaped wound where a piece of shrapnel had struck him. The planetary oxygen levels prevented the blood from clotting at the human-normal rate, so the cuts and bruises that Spock had not been able to heal before the dermal regenerator died bled somewhat sluggishly. Jim’s lips were exceedingly dry. He had bitten through the bottom lip during the crash, and it appeared as though his lower jaw had fractured. Spock had used his own shirts as bandages to attempt to slow down the bleeding from the wound in his chest where part of the steering apparatus had punctured Jim’s shoulder. The emergency kit had included a small medical regenerator, but it had only healed the perforation of his lung. Hearing the gurgling, whistling sound of Jim fighting for each breath had caused Spock’s hands to tremble as he quickly applied the regenerator and used it to its fullest capacity. There were several lacerations on Jim’s torso, and Spock strongly suspected that there was quite a bit of internal bleeding in Jim’s abdominal cavity.

It had been very fortunate that Jim had passed out from pain, yet during the four hours that Spock had been walking towards the outpost, he had not so much as twitched. It had been rather disconcerting, and the joy that shot through Spock at the small, pain-filled whisper was almost frightening in its intensity.

“Yes, Captain?”

“‘kay?”

Had Spock truly had a desire to emulate human over-emotionalism, he would have embraced their propensity for eye-rolling. The simple gesture related a bevy of information, full of such emotional nuances that Spock did not always understand. Suddenly, he could empathize greatly with those that used it in response to something he said.

“If you are attempting to gauge my well-being, I assure you that compared to-” Spock stopped, his lips twitching in a minute frown. “Compared to your injuries, Captain, I am fine.”

“F’ne has var’ble defin’shuns.”

Spock found himself ignoring the sudden tightness in his throat, and tightened his grip on his burden in response to the small tell of emotional compromise. All at once, Spock could not ignore the guilt he’d been suppressing. He allowed himself two brief moments to accept his complacency in Jim’s injuries before breathing slowly and forcing himself to act logically.

“An’ it’s, _Jim_ , Spock.”

If Jim’s words were gaining more clarity, then the pain was not going to be as ephemeral as Spock had hoped. “ _Ponfo’mirann_ ,” Spock muttered under his breath, somewhat viciously. Vulcans, as a whole, had no use for swearing, but Sybok had taught the young Spock that one a year before he left, and Spock still found himself thinking it when the more common Terran vocabulary was simply not enough to express his--

Spock began to move more quickly, ignoring the sun beating down on his naked shoulders. He found himself arching slightly over Jim’s form, as though trying to protect him from the sun.

The planet they were on had been what Jim had called ‘damn near forgotten by everyone’. It was remote.

Spock began worrying, and that in of itself was frustrating. He’d long ago given up the cool detachment one needed when serving on board a starship with a mostly Human crew. Spock knew that to his crewmates he was often cold, or uncaring. To the Bridge crew and senior staff, slightly less so. Yet all that was needed to observe his lapse of Vulcan resolve was to look to one Captain James T. Kirk, and any Vulcan with any doubts would immediately understand the... regard Spock felt towards his Captain. Spock couldn’t honestly say only Vulcans noticed. Nyota, whose empathy was unsurpassed in all others that Spock called either friend or acquaintance, called him ‘gooey’, a descriptor that Spock found both horrendously descriptive and poignantly apt.

Spock stopped after a few miles, noting that Jim had curled into Spock’s heat, as though he were cold. This was doubly concerning given the desert-like climate of the planet’s surface. They would reach the outpost in three hours at his current pace. Spock moved so that Jim was sheltered from the wind by an outcropping of rock and quickly checked the makeshift bandages.

“‘Hurts, Sp’k.”

Jim attempted to open his eyes, but ended up squinting at the sun. Spock moved his left hand quickly to block him from the direct rays and Jim attempted it again, stubborn as always. One pupil was bloody, and the other was so dilated that there was only a small ring of blue visible. Concussion, possible head trauma. Spock cursed again and sat back on his heels, thinking. Absently, Spock found himself stroking back Jim’s hair and wiping some of the blood gently from his face.

“You must be still, Jim. I will get you to safety.”

“I know--you will. Bones’ll kick my ass if you don’t.”

Spock raised one brow, attempting to untangle the illogical thought. Not at the threat of violence towards Jim’s person from the good Doctor- Spock had been there while McCoy had worked tirelessly to find a way to bring Jim’s irradiated corpse back to life and Spock understood that the man felt much as Spock did when it came to Jim’s safety - but the idea that McCoy would kick Jim when he was so injured made Spock frown deeply. Normally Spock had no issues with understanding colloquialisms; however, his distress made him revert to what Jim would call ‘bad habits.’ Fortunately, Jim’s eyes were closed and there were no sentient beings around to observe his lack of control.

It was a poor use of his or Jim’s time to waste in pointless introspection. Spock stretched his neck muscles and carefully picked Jim back up, wincing slightly when Jim made another small, pained whimper of protest. Spock looked towards the west. They were too far to see the details of the structure, but Spock could easily get Jim there if he moved quickly. Spock ignored the flutter in his stomach when Jim once again curled protectively towards Spock’s torso, and set off once more, this time moving as efficiently as he could without risking jostling the unconscious Captain. He estimated the outpost would be 2.33 hours away at this rate if he could keep the pace.

Spock noticed that the terrain changed, the environment becoming more humid and less arid as he ran. He ignored the pain in his own body, forcing his lungs to take in the planet’s oxygen. While this was a Class M Planet, the levels of carbon monoxide relative to the planetary oxygen levels barely designated it as such. It was the reason that he and Jim now found themselves here: classifying and studying the effects of minerals on the surface. The dilithium deposits were of special interest to Starfleet’s Geology department.

The sun seemed to grow more intense with every step. Spock stopped for a moment to adjust his slippery grip on Jim’s body and to suck in an exhausted breath before continuing. The way he held Jim reminded Spock of Dr. McCoy’s care of their Captain. McCoy would never be so obviously emotional. Spock frowned, pushing away the dark swirl of shame that he felt for forcing Jim into this situation in the first place.

There was a pre-eugenics philosopher of whom Spock’s mother had been rather fond: Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavell, known for his essays on human behavior. At the time, Spock had not seen the appeal. Yet, when McCoy had proposed his plan to Spock, the predominant phrase in his mind was one of his mother’s: ‘the end justifies the means.’ Of course, Amanda had often repeated that phrase to Sarek when justifying projects the Vulcan Counsel would have initially brushed off as ‘too emotional’ or ‘falsely logical’, but Spock could admit that the end justifying the means had been what had convinced him to go along with Leonard McCoy’s ‘plan’. Certainly, in the future, Spock would not leave any strategic planning to the over-emotional human if situations such as these were to be the result.

Spock shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. He was so focused on getting Jim to safety, that he failed to notice the small hovercraft until it was a mere three meters away. Spock was appalled at the purely possessive adrenaline he felt when one being got out and started running towards them. If they had any intention of harming....

“Commander? Commander Spock?”

Spock blinked. Of course. Dressed in the casual uniform of a scientist corps hired by something other than the Federation, the human woman was obviously Cynthia Cross, his contact on this planet. He recognized her immediately from their many communications. She stood aside, and made a beckoning motion with her hand.

Spock needed no further encouragement. He quickly moved Jim onto the backseat of the small craft. A blanket had been thrown hastily over the seat, and Spock saw two large containers of water.

“Good lord, I wasn’t quite sure if I believed my eyes! Rick had me shoved out the door and into the ‘craft almost before we realized what we were seeing on the scanners. Is the Captain okay?”

“His condition is suboptimal.” Spock tilted Jim’s head up so that he could drink from the water receptacle. Jim moaned a little, but he seemed to be unconscious. “Please return with all haste.”

“Oh! Of-of course.” The woman turned and Spock felt her brush by him, the skin on her arm coming in contact with his hand as he cupped the back of Jim’s head. Spock acknowledged that he would need to meditate at the earliest opportunity, as his shields were already shredded from getting both he and Jim to this point of relative safety. Her mental signature made his skin crawl. Spock was much too polite to jerk back; besides, he could not have done with supporting Jim’s head as he currently was, but it was a close thing.

“Sorry about that, sir. We’ll get him back to the ‘post in a jiffy.”

As she was not Starfleet, sir was not the correct form of address, but Spock ignored it, crouching awkwardly over Jim, being careful not to brush his body. Jim was still unresponsive, and Spock felt adrenaline accelerate his heartbeat as worry washed over him once again.

The girl was babbling nervously, and Spock tuned her out, until her question caught his attention.

“-- heroes of the Federation. So, we kept them away. I hope that’s okay?”

Spock blinked. “Repeat your query.”

“Oh! Of course, sir. I said that we, uh, Rick and myself decided to um, tell the press corps that we didn’t know where you were. They were like bloodhounds. You said that you and Captain Kirk were coming here to catalogue our recent mining samples? And I told Rick... I said, ‘we don’t need them bugging the Heroes of the Federation.’ They probably checked up on us ten different times since we’re kind of out of the way. So we kept them.. uh. away. Uh. Sir.”

“I appreciate your forethought.”

The woman turned an alarming shade of red. Spock raised an eyebrow, but before he could address the issue, she piloted the hovercraft to a hangar where a tall man stood with his hand cupped over his eyes to shade them from the sun.

They landed, and between the three of them got Jim inside the building with very little fuss.

“Holy shit! I still can’t believe you guys crashed. Here, put him here.” The man, Rick, had obviously been in the process of setting up a triage station. There were several different medical implements, and what looked like two small-scale medical-grade replicators. “I uh. I contacted the Enterprise and there’s a really mad guy that wants you to contact him ‘immediately’, uh, Mister Spock, sir.”

Spock set Jim down extremely carefully onto the surface. He was crossing to the small padd, and typing in the codes to reach Dr. McCoy almost before the human finished his repeated orders. There was no time for the worry he felt - Spock did not have the medical knowledge necessary to help Jim with his many wounds.

Dr. McCoy answered the comm so quickly that Spock knew he had been waiting. Spock adjusted the camera on the padd, and heard Cross murmuring something about projecting it so that they could better see. The connection was extremely spotty, and the screen would occasionally go black due to the planet’s interference. Still, Dr. McCoy was not yelling, or swearing - both of which Spock certainly expected. The doctor was coolly professional as he stared at Jim, tapping at the screen quickly to zoom in on certain parts of Jim’s injuries.

“Alright, Spock. Take the tricorder and scan him. Start at the crown of his head and move slowly down. I want to know what the hell the kid did to himself, and I’m not gonna just trust my eyes to this ‘specially given that I’m on the other side of the goddamn galaxy.”

Spock did so, noting that the two humans had stepped respectfully back, although they were both watching with nervous anticipation.

“Right. Shit, kid.” McCoy tapped a few things on his screen, sorting through the information the tricorder recorded. “Know what happened yet?”

“I do not.” Spock noticed that his hand was shaking and controlled himself immediately.

“Hmmhn. Shrapnel. Contusions on left lower lobe, recent scarring from-- Spock, did you already do some healing?”

“Yes, Doctor. Before the shipboard regenerator ceased performing.”

“Damn good thing you did, Hobgoblin, or Jim’d be beyond either my help or yours. Hm. Severe tearing of pectoralis major muscle, left. Damn, damn damn. Broken jaw, contusions from neck strain, probable cervical acceleration-deceleration, concussion even with that damn hard head of his... right. Well, Spock, wait. Shit, that’s shrapnel. That’s gonna have to come out.”

Spock heard each word as an accusation, further proof that he had been unable to keep his Captain safe.

“Spock, bring the tricorder back over his thigh, yeah, right there. Near his groin. That’s in there, damn close to the femoral.” McCoy winced with a worried frown. “Okay, Spock, looks like you’re gonna have to be my hands here. Now that’s not a medbed, so we’re gonna have to improvise. First though...” McCoy paused and appeared to be looking at Spock for the first time. “You look like you’re gonna fall on your ass. I need you ready to go, and able to do what I tell you. Run the tricorder over yourself, now.”

“Our focus should be on the Captain.”

“Don’t tell me how to do m’damn job, Spock. Now. Jim’s fine. ‘Bout the only damn thing that megalomaniacal popsicle was good for - Jimmy’s new snazzy blood’ll give him some time for you to do as I say.”

Spock had often heard Jim bemoan ‘Bones’ crazyman eyebrows’, and now could put a visual with the disturbing imagery. “As you wish, Doctor.”

Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes and called up more information on his screen, muttering under his breath. Spock obediently scanned himself, the guilt from before swimming sickly in his stomach. He had very small injuries when compared with the Captain’s, and he found to his disgruntlement that he resented this delay when Jim was clearly the more injured of the two of them.

“ _Hunnh_. Looks like you cracked that skull of yours a good one. I don’t see any bleeding though. Okay go wash up, and drink at least a litre of water before coming back. You there! Don’t touch him.”

Spock hadn’t even noticed that the woman was reaching out for him, he stepped back out of her way and turned to the dining area, knowing that was the most likely place to meet his needs. He scrubbed diligently, knowing that there were small sonics that would remove all the germs and bacteria on his skin. Spock did not have time to look for a shirt to cover his chest, having used both of his on bandages for Jim’s wounds. The environmental controls were kept quite low, and Spock suppressed a shiver. He ignored it and walked back to where Jim lay. The man had pulled the woman to the other end of the large living area. It gave the illusion of privacy, but Spock appreciated the effort.

“Alright, Spock. Now you know the basics, but first take a second to familiarize yourself with the equipment. Y’all are damn lucky they’re kitted up so well. Here. I’m sending something for you to use to knock his ass out if he comes to. Be sure you set the hypo up exactly like I say. Jim’s still got a damn metric fuckton of allergies.”

Spock agreed and complied. It was easy enough to synch the replicator to McCoy’s signal and wait for the medicine to appear. He loaded it into a hypospray and waited for instruction. McCoy did not seem to be worried, but Spock did not trust the man’s apparent composure. It seemed much more likely that the human had stifled his obvious over-emotionalism so as to attempt to not, as Jim would say, ‘freak anyone out’. Otherwise, Spock did not understand how so much of Jim’s bright red blood could be dripping onto the floor and the man not be absolutely terrif---

“S’ck?” Jim licked at his lips, and Spock almost dropped the small laser he had been examining. He placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder and pressed to keep Jim from attempting to sit up.

“Do not attempt to move, Captain.” Spock reached out for the hypospray and applied it gently to Jim’s neck. This endeavor would be difficult enough without Jim awake and moving around.

“Spock, where-?” Jim’s mumble turned indistinct as the ‘spray went through his system, sending him relaxing back onto the surface.

“Okay - we’re going to clean and suture the chest wound first. Take the tricorder and hold it carefully. We need to look for any shrapnel or debris from the entry point.”

Spock did so, working carefully. Only when the tricorder sent the resulting scans to McCoy, and he approved did Spock clean the area and use one of the small regenerators to begin the healing process. It hummed softly to itself as a small force-field bubbled out over the wound, muscle, tendon, and skin already slowly starting to form back together.

“Okay, the lungs are gonna be a little trickier. Same process, but you’ll have to remove the fluid. Don’t worry if the wound from before opens. If it doesn’t that’s great, but if it does we can clean and re-set it.”

It took what felt like several hours. Spock’s internal sense of time seemed to jump around as he and McCoy worked together. It wasn’t seamless, but McCoy calmly explained when Spock had a question. Spock was fervently grateful for the field medical training he’d gotten while stationed on Earth during the Enterprise’s last set of repairs. They were only three years into their five-year mission, but there had been a disturbing number of incidents on planets that ranged everywhere from the destruction of Jim’s uniform shirts to the deaths of crew members, and McCoy had insisted that all away teams have slightly more than basic first-aid knowledge.

They worked slowly and efficiently in tandem. Spock grew more and more calm as he could see Jim’s horrendous injuries slowly healing. Spock had just finished removing the shrapnel from Jim’s leg, and healing the resultant wounds when McCoy sighed.

“Okay, Spock. You’re goin’ great, man. Well. Uh. Vul-- you know what? Never mind. Just need to get to the superficial stuff on his hand, then slap a regenerator on his jaw and double check the concussion and blood levels and we’re good.”

They ran into only one issue: the small regenerators needed to be frequently charged and there were only two. They did have a regenerating blanket, but that would take longer to charge and use.

Spock finished up, following McCoy’s directives. It had been five hours of careful surgery, until McCoy seemed satisfied.

“Right. Oxygen levels are good, that jaw is gonna be tender when he wakes up, and he’s gonna be sore for a day or two. I’ll send you the pain hypos. You know he’s too damn stubborn to take them so you’ll have to use my... ah. Method.”

“I see no issue with your methods, doctor. They are necessary when the patient is being obstinate.”

McCoy actually grinned tiredly. “Don’t compliment me, Spock. Makes me nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs when y’do that sorta thing.”

Spock understood the thank you for what it was and allowed himself a miniscule nod of acknowledgement.

“Right. Well, you look like you’re about to fall on your face, but Scotty’s been hailing me every ten goddamn minutes to fill you in on what’s been happenin’ so I’ll let you get to that. Mind you eat, and get some rest tonight. McCoy out.”

“Uh. Mister Spock? Sir?”

“As you are not members of Starfleet, that form of address is not necessary.” Spock spoke absently, barely acknowledging the woman. He heard the padd chirp with the expected incoming message from Lieutenant Commander Scott and forced himself not to sigh. Vulcans processed adrenalin differently than humans, but Spock still felt its effects, and was suddenly quite tired.

“Oh. Of course. Sorry about that Su--uh. Mister Spock. I just wanted to let you know that we have four sleeping areas. They’re small rooms, but private. You can give the Captain one, so we can clean up here. Sure was lucky we were scanning and saw you guys needed help! While you were busy, I went and fetched the shuttlecraft. Used the tractor beam we use for our equipment?”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the question, aware that his behavior was crossing the line into rudeness. “It was most fortuitous. The Captain and I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Oh, no. “ The man, who Spock just remembered Cross had referred to as ‘Rick’ interrupted. “No need for that. I just wanted you to know that it’s sitting under a ‘field. Radiation leak. It’s parked well away from us, but nothing in it was able to be salvaged. You can replicate anything you need though. ‘Fraid the outpost isn’t much. Labs are over there. Dining area you’ve, uh ,found. We’ve got all the standard equipment you guys will need when you’re feelin’ better.”

Spock nodded and carefully lifted Jim into his arms again. The woman grabbed the replicators and the blanket and Spock followed her to one of the sleeping areas.

“We weren’t sure if you and Captain Kirk wanted to uh, share...”

Spock stared blankly at her. She was flushed red again, and Spock tilted his head slightly to the left. When he understood to what she referred it took the last dregs of his control to not react. “The Captain and I do not share sleeping quarters.” He refused to acknowledge that both the tips of his ears were turning green and the way his heart gave a funny sort of arrhythmic thump in his side at the thought of sharing such an intimacy with his Captain.

Spock allowed the woman to pull back the sheet and duvet, and gently set Jim down in the center of the bed. It was rather large, given the small room. It was clearly the nicest and roomiest of the quarters, decorated enough that it was clear that one of the scientists resided here. There was plenty of room for the medical equipment, and it was easy enough to reprogram the wall unit to monitor Jim’s responses. Spock created a feed that went directly to his padd. It was more difficult to ignore the vertigo he felt. McCoy had said he was concussed, and Spock acknowledged it was as though he was just now allowing himself to feel the effects.

“Here, Mr. Spock. You can just kind of relax tonight, and we can talk later. I took the liberty of programming your room to something more comfortable for your ah.. type. I hope that’s okay? I know you must be exhausted. Have a good night, okay?”

Spock nodded. “Your kindness is appreciated Ms. Cross.” He waited until she left before turning back to observe Jim one more time. Jim had been stripped naked and had several bandages over the sutures. It was a little archaic, given the state-of-the-art medbay they were used to on the Enterprise, but Spock was not willing to trust Jim’s safety, or his allergies to the open air. Even filtered as it was to the outpost, there could still be planetary imperfections that could be detrimental to Jim’s recovery. The two smaller, portable regenerators were attached over Jim’s cracked jaw, one on each side. It gave him a rather monstrous appearance, especially given the bruises and other contusions on his pale skin. The blanket was not a full-length one. It fit over Jim’s torso- the areas that needed the most medical attention - and that left his lower half covered only with a thin duvet.

“Lights. Ten percent,” Spock spoke quietly not wanting to disturb him. He shut the door and made his way to his own bedroom, next door, glancing twice at the padd that recorded his captain’s respiratory rates.

Spock replicated Starfleet regulation sleepwear and stepped into the one-person sonic shower. Sonics did nothing for the aching, sore muscles, but he would be clean before he rested. Spock knew that he desperately needed time to meditate before he slept. He replicated some tea, ignoring the slightly bland flavor it left in his mouth and let the warmth from the liquid spread through his body. Before he allowed himself rest, Spock knew that he must return Scott’s message. Even though he and Jim were not technically on duty, he knew that what happened to them must be logged on the Acting Captain’s duty roster. The dull thud of a headache could not be suppressed.

Spock signed in and waited for Nyota to patch him through.

“Spock! Good t’see ya, mate. You’re lookin’ a wee bit under the weather if y’dinne mind my saying so.”

“I am under an adequate structural covering, Mister Scott. The environmental controls are consistent.” Indeed, Coss had raised the temperature to something akin to Vulcan-comfortable and he quite appreciated her thoughtfulness.

“Ah. Right. Well, suppose you’d better report. Len’s clucking around trying to find out what happened. Last I heard you were on--” Scott lowered his voice, adopting a conspiratorial air, “--shore leave.”

Spock nodded. “Please have your Acting Captain’s log show the following: I willfully, and with complete disregard for the Captain’s wishes, misled him into, to use the vernacular, a ‘working vacation’. Given his refusal to take leave, and Dr. McCoy’s increasing---”

“Whoa, Spock. Hold on a second.” Scott pinched the top of his nose, near his eyes. “Y’did what now?”

“I told the damnfool kid to take a friggin’ break!” McCoy’s disgruntled frown appeared over Scott’s shoulder. “Oh, keep your pants on. I’m in the Captain’s ready-room. No one can hear us. You keep trying to fall on that sword, Spock. It was an unlucky thing that the shuttle crashed, but it’s not the end of the world. You’re fine. Jim will be fine.” McCoy shrugged.

“I am wearing the specified Starfleet regulation uniform, and there are no weapons in my vicinity.” Spock could hear both McCoy and Scott sigh through the comm link. The way they managed it in unison was strangely satisfying. Spock raised an eyebrow, dissembling confusion. Why none of the crew had yet realized that he understood human colloquialisms perfectly well he did not know; Spock had grown up with a human mother, after all. Spock had, almost without realizing it, adopted the same reactions towards the crew of the Enterprise as his father had done with his mother: feigning a misunderstanding. Of course, Amanda had caught on rather quickly and it became a contest (his mother had called it a game while his father an ‘intellectual exercise’) between the two of them. Spock would continue to emulate this reaction; after all, it gave Spock many nuances of the intricacies of human behavior to study.

Scott frowned. “So let me get this straight. The Captain... dinne know he was on leave?”

“Yeah. Captain Dumbass kept refusing to leave this great tin can. Wonder where he got an idea like that from, eh?”

Scott’s facial expression turned faintly injured as he looked over towards Dr. McCoy.

“Oh, nevermind,” McCoy huffed. “But between you and Spock over there, the kid had all the reason he needed to avoid taking a break. I told him he needed some sun, and a beach with little frufru drinks. Lots of frufru drinks. He needed some company and to get lai-- er. To meet some new people.”

Spock rather doubted the veracity of McCoy’s claim given the slight stutter in his vocal patterns.

“But he wouldn’t hear of it. Said it didn’t matter if he hadn’t had shore leave, that he didn’t need it. Stubborn ass.” McCoy huffed again, as though Jim was the only stubborn being any of them knew. “So I went to Spock. He was supposed to go to planet--- what planet is that now, Spock?”

“Drema V.”

“Right. Drema V. The one with all the dilithium. Some kind of geekfest with the science crew.”

Spock feared that he would not have ample time for rest if he did not take over the telling of McCoy’s story. “The science crew had been hired by two different civilian companies to study both the geological aspects of Drema V, and the high deposits of dilithium on both the surface and in the atmosphere. You are aware that it is that issue which keeps a transporter from working at peak efficiency. I convinced the Captain to join me on this study. Two of the civilian scientists left to pursue other research projects and I am assured that there is ample time for relaxation, with the moderate workload needed for the study of the crystallized dilithium.”

“Y’know, that’s actually kind of smart.” Scott paused. “I take it something interfered with the shuttle’s integrity?” Scott tilted his head, intrigued.

“Unknown at this juncture.”

“Right. Well, bad luck all around. We were called away for a supply run but I can either swing back and pick you two up, send another starship, or we can give you the... well, roughly six days if we push the warp drive.” Scott and McCoy shared a significant look, and Spock had a brief moment of frustration that he was clearly missing something between the two of them.

He nodded. Spock already knew that the Enterprise had been called away. It was the last communication he’d received before the shuttle crashed.

“My vote is for you to stay. Jim took a hit but he’s a tough one. You did a damn fine job takin’ care of him, Spock. He’ll be a little sore, but like I said. Probably up and at ‘em later tomorrow. There’s nothing involved with soil samples that would tax him overmuch. But, I understand if...”

“My preference is to stay here.” With Jim. Spock cut off the words before he said them, but it was a close thing.

“Yeah. Figured. New access to dilithium probably’s got your blood up.”

Spock said nothing, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, Just know that the _Reliant_ is in the neighborhood if you change your mind. Contact us again if you need anything. Scott out.”

Spock allowed himself a small sigh. His two human crew members’ actions were often perplexing. In fact, Spock was at fault here - had he not been less than absolutely truthful in his reasons, Jim would not have been in the shuttle on this planet, and then not so gravely injured.

Spock sat up, tugging down the new shirt, then knelt in the middle of the room. He needed to meditate.

Since the destruction of his planet, Spock had taught himself to meditate without all the accoutrements he had used while centering his Katra. He very rarely used incense. Many sympathetic members of the Federation had synthesized many of the same plants and herbs used in traditional Vulcan incense, but Spock noted a marked difference between the natural form from his planet and that of a replicator. When he meditated, he wished to absent any extraneous thought, and found the subconscious reminder of his planet and the loss of his people to be detrimental. Traditionally, the mat used was also made from Vulcan materials, but his meditation mat on the Enterprise had been a gift from Nyota after they had returned to Earth after destroying the criminal Nero. She had fashioned it herself, and Spock thought of her each time he touched it.

Nyota.

Spock entered a light trance and let his mind go as it will, sorting, classifying, and dismissing the influx of disorganized information as necessary. The pounding in his head faded to a dull throb.

Nyota had often been the subject of Spock’s troubled thoughts, but seventeen days after the beginning of their mission she had terminated their intimate relationship. When Spock had posed a query as to why she had done so, she responded with an enigmatic smile and said, “Because your heart is so big, Spock. And as much as I wish it were so, I don’t think I am the one filling it up.”

Spock often found that humans could be baffling, but found that the human with which one had embarked on a sexual and emotionally satisfying relationship could be doubly so. Spock had done his best to understand her words and respect her wishes. However, he often found himself wishing to speak with her to take advantage of her empathy and wisdom, yet was not certain of the particular nuances of remaining friends with a former lover. Nyota was professional on the bridge, and as kind as always when they were off duty, but she had taken pains to keep herself removed from Spock’s presence, and he did not wish to cause her discomfort. Spock did not have someone with which he could go to with this particular issue, and he missed the forthright advice he had once taken for granted.

Even Spock knew that it would likely be inappropriate to speak to her of his muddled ... feelings for their Captain.

His Captain.

_Jim._

The guilt was not logical. Spock knew that he should not feel such a tangled web of unVulcan emotionalism, but could not keep it from his thoughts. Here, if nowhere else, Spock must acknowledge and understand what he was feeling, so that he could react accordingly. Dimly, Spock registered that his physical self drew in a deep breath. He began to mentally name each emotion so that he could better understand it.

Admiration.

        Frustration.

              Bewilderment.

                      Friendship.

                               Lust.

                                    Torment.

                                           Gratitude.

                                                  Adoration-Devotion--

Love.

**  
**  


Long familiarity within the scope of his own Katra had Spock searching for the multi-faceted strands of his emotions in the jet blackness of his mind. Here inside himself, Spock had no hands with which to actually pluck the colorful strands that represented the scope of his emotions, yet he did so with ease; outwardly smirking a bit at the memory of his own father’s bafflement when a prepubescent Spock had first attempted to share his thoughts.  Spock’s mind was not a Vulcan’s, and it was not a Human’s.  It was his own, and (as assured by his mother) as fiercely unique as he was.

Spock waited patiently for the first strand, noting that it was the same jewel-like blue of Jim’s eyes. How could Spock not admire the man that had given so much for him? Jim had absolutely refused to give up on the Nibiruian people. He had not known that Spock had no plan for an exit strategy from the volcano, having already accounted for the interference before Sulu had spoken. The chance that Spock would come back to the Enterprise had been small, and Spock knew the needs of the many had far outweighed the needs of his own self. Yet, Jim had refused to give up on him, an action that had resulted in losing the one thing Jim had taken such pride in; Captaincy of the Enterprise. The jewel-toned blue was the first and strongest of the strands Spock anchored to his Self.

Slinking through the darkness of Spock’s mind, the next strand slithered into place, wrapping around the base of the blue strand. The dull, washed-out brown made Spock feel faintly nauseous once he realized how strong it was. Spock often felt frustration with the smaller minds with which he was forced to interact. It was only natural, and little different than the Vulcans on his home planet when the half-blood had arrived at the answer before they did. He felt frustration with the cocky blond cadet who had the audacity to hack the Kobayashi Maru, frustration with the realization that he had been maneuvered into a battle of wits with the same cocky cadet, and something much closer to angry astonishment when Spock realized that Jim’s mind could not only keep up with his own, but surpass it enough that Spock was never bored.

Spock searched for the next strand of emotion, frowning a little in concentration. Much like its counterpart, the strand was hard to see, and even harder to define. The inky iridescent shimmer of its links seemed to appear and disappear on their own. In one way it looked lavender, but tilted another way it was obviously blue, and just as obviously jade when tilted into a different light. This was much more difficult to acknowledge; this constant feeling of bewilderment. Spock just didn’t understand how one was meant to go on with the daily minutiae of their lives with this constant presence in the back of his mind. While he had no firsthand experience, Spock was not unversed in the understanding sexual intimacy between two males. While not common on his home planet, it certainly never carried the stigma it appeared to have on Earth. Spock found himself living for the unabashed touching that Jim favored: a back slap. A light punch on the shoulder. Once after engaging in a game of the human sport of baseball, a slap on Spock’s posterior that had sent Spock’s ears flushing bright green and had caused him to return to his room in some confusion. The strand joined the other two, twining slowly together.

Jim was his friend. Spock found that he shared a closeness with many of the crew, but with Jim there was something extra that Spock could not replicate with someone else. Discussion amongst endless ship’s business where Spock’s opinion was sought after and utilized, chess games where Spock found to his mild shock that he lost approximately half the time. In his mind the several different shades of yellow strands were twined and braided together in a strong chain that Spock could immediately recognize as comforting. Spock found that Jim told him of his personal life. He knew of Jim’s nephew Peter, and the fear of having his own children and ‘fucking them up as spectacularly as was done to him’. Spock found himself assuring Jim that he would do no such thing to any child, for any reason. Spock told him of his mother. Jim told Spock of Tarsus IV. Even McCoy had seemed shocked at that, giving Spock a cocked eyebrow and a long stare once he found out that Jim had shared the details of his childhood, his demeanor thawing noticeably as though Spock had passed some assessment of which he knew nothing about. Spock had felt a sharp stab of pleasure at the realization that such intimate details were those commonly shared with friends. The yellow wove itself around the now slightly thicker strand attached to Spock’s Katra almost obscuring the nearly faded brown of frustration.

Lust was not something that Spock felt comfortable with; no. Spock saw the red strand shining brightly in his mind and frowned. It was the intensity of his lust for Captain Kirk that made him uncomfortable. Spock often found that he could not always suppress, nor control it. Spock had ruthlessly subdued his fantasies once he found himself distracted enough that Jim felt it necessary to ask him what was wrong. It had been humiliating enough that Spock had kept his lustful thoughts to himself, confined only to the moments before sleep, furtive and shamefully in the dark. The red strand almost seemed to pulse as though carrying its own lifeforce. It mocked him as it slid effortlessly in with the others.

Torment was the bright white of a flash of lightning. No matter how much Spock attempted to suppress it, an imprint of his desire left an almost palpable outline behind his eyelids, like looking from a bright sun to a dark room in the span of a few blinks. Spock knew this was wrong, that it would not be appreciated. Jim had not been shy in his sexual conquests, and while they might have varied in species, they all shared the same sex... and that sex was most definitely not male. Spock attempted to manipulate the white strand towards the others, only to hiss in pain as it burned him. Outwardly, Spock could feel the sharp spike of pain his mind produced as he attempted to brush aside this uncomfortable realization and frowned in deeper concentration. If Spock wished for his Katra to truly sing with health, then he must confront everything within himself. Torment kept Spock up during the Gamma shift, tense when he realized that the optimal amount of rest would not be reached while his mind fractured and rebuilt itself with tension. Torment kept Spock ignoring the flirty smiles Jim would exchange with both visiting dignitaries and their aides. Torment had Spock making sure to have a padd ready during off-ship missions where Jim returned to their usually shared quarters stinking of smell of sex. Torment kept Spock from admitting any of the confusing jumble of emotions from fear that he would lose that sought-after and much sought-after friendship that kept Spock sane. The white strand stood off to the side before slowly merging into the others, overwhelmed in particular by the red of lust.

Spock was faintly surprised to see that gratitude was a thick rope of forest green, looking almost like a living thing as it slid sensuously around the now multi-faceted strands hanging from Spock’s sense of Self. Gratitude for his life. Gratitude for the life of his father, and his elders. Gratitude that Jim accepted him as his friend. Gratitude that Jim had not withdrawn his friendship as Nyota did. Gratitude that Jim had thought so highly of him in his last few living breaths. Spock became aware then of an uncomfortable blockage in his throat, as though the emotion was keeping him from the most optimal breathing. He was so incredibly grateful to have Jim Kirk in his life that Spock was not entirely certain that he would manage to go on if Jim Kirk wasn’t in his life. Outwardly, Spock shifted on his meditation mat, uncomfortable with that realization, yet acknowledging its truth.

The sound of his comm, set to a frequency Spock didn’t immediately recognize, jarred Spock out of his light meditation. He could almost see the remaining pinkish, purplish, and garnet strands scatter like sand in the wind as he opened his eyes.

The comm whistled again and Spock shook his head, taking a quick stock of his mental faculties even as he rose and tapped the screen for his message. Rick looked faintly worried.

“Sorry, Sir, but I think there’s something wrong with Captain Ki--”

Spock turned and was striding towards the doors before Rick had finished uttering the syllable. He ignored Cross’ startled gasp as he strode into Jim’s room.

Jim was still sedated, but was obviously trapped in a nightmare. It was one of the truths Jim had shared with him on one of their many late-night conversations; he still dreamed of dying, of feeling the agony of his irradiated cells shrivel and die. Spock noted that both regenerators blinked that they needed charged, and removed them, checking the status of the regen blanket as he pressed his hand onto Jim’s shoulder.

“Jim. I am here.”

Jim moaned and arched away from Spock’s hand which startled him enough that he allowed it, blinking twice as rapidly down at Jim before firming his shields and lightly stroking the back of Jim’s hand. It was a gesture Spock had seen Nyota employ after Jim had been knocked unconscious after saving her life. At the time Spock had felt such possessiveness and jealousy that the stale hint of shame had flooded his senses, yet Jim had calmed immediately at her touch. Nyota had smiled enigmatically at Spock and indicated he should come into the sickbay cubicle with a slight jerk of her head. Spock had instead found some other task with which to occupy himself, but the memory remained.

Now Spock touched the back of Jim’s hand, his heart fluttering in his side when Jim turned back towards his touch with a sleepy murmur, still struggling to come up out of the nightmare. Flipping Jim’s hand over, and Spock found himself feeling Jim’s steady pulse under the fragile skin on his inner wrist. Spock felt it slow, and perhaps foolishly attributed it to his touch.

“Spock?”

“Yes.” Spock found a bizarre blockage in his throat and coughed softly. His mind ran through a number of different statements, all of equal importance yet found him not saying any of them, instead staring down at Jim and watching him awaken fully.

Jim’s eyes were soft as he blinked a little blearily. “Report?”

Spock snapped to attention as though a switch had been flipped, a small part of his mind horrified at his previous unprofessionalism. “We are temporarily stranded on Drema V. The shuttle malfunctioned and we crashed. The Enterprise has been called to duty elsewhere, and you were grievously harmed during the crash. I informed both Doctor McCoy and Acting Captain Sco--”

“Wait. Hold up, Spock.” Jim tried to sit up, waving off Spock’s instinctual move to help him sit more comfortably. He winced, pulling the regen blanket off from where it had fallen onto his legs and inspecting the damage. Spock caught a flash of well-muscled, tanned skin and the pinkish tinge of newly-healed scars. “I feel like I fell out of the goddamn sky.”

“In essence, that is not inaccurate.”

Jim’s lips quirked in a smile that did perplexing things to Spock’s heart-rate. “I remember a lot of that, actually. You got me here in a .. hovercraft? And we’re with the scientists, right? Kind of a working shore leave?”

Guilt squirmed like knives in Spock’s gut.

 

He opened his mouth to launch into an explanation of the crystallized dilithium but found himself stopping short when Jim raised both of his arms up, in a scapulohumeral rhythm, the deltoid, pectoralis major, serratus anterior and latissimus muscles all flexing as he stretched.

“Well, I don’t mind a little relaxation, to be honest. And to tell the truth, I really don’t mind taking a break from the ship for a bit. I’m glad you’re here with me.” Jim’s bright smile made Spock relax his own shoulders slightly.

“I am appreciative of your presence also, Jim.” Spock blinked, inwardly panicking at the awkwardness of his statement, heavy with truth. In some confusion, he shut his mouth with a snap, momentarily confused as to why he could not seem to cease talking.

“I think I might get a little more sleep, if that’s okay. Are you set up in your own quarters?”

“Affirmative. They are adequate for my needs.”

Jim yawned, climbing out of his bed and walking towards the small en suite. “See you in the morning, Spock. You can fill me in then.”

Spock nodded to an empty room, turned on his heel and left. The two scientists were eating near the kitchen area, obviously staring and trying not to be caught doing so. Spock nodded at them somewhat absently and walked back to his own quarters, satisfied that Jim appeared to be feeling much better.

He felt that his meditation was unfinished, but his headache was gone and he was quite hungry. Spock made his way to the replicator and ordered tea that he knew Jim preferred. It was, perhaps, appalling sentimental, but Spock had no plans at this time to share any of the nuances of his illogical behavior.

He did not go back to meditating, instead staring up at the slightly cracked ceiling for several hours. His thoughts swirled from the eidetic memory of both Jim’s sleepy smile and the flex of his wiry musculature. Spock understood that Jim had lost some of his muscle tone since his ... death from radiation poisoning. While his body was still strong, it was somehow just the slightest bit off, a fact that McCoy bemoaned on a regular basis.

The flash of Jim stretching, his lean muscles arching into comfort caused Spock to shift uneasily in his bed. Incredibly, Jim did not seem to mind the enforced vacation, and indeed appeared to actually look forward to spending time with Spock away from the normal business of the ship. There was enough of a scientific abnormality that it had intrigued both Jim and Spock, and he found himself looking forward to the next few days.  

(Spock’s mind quickly supplied several instances where he and Jim could work together, possibly with Jim’s shirt off. Spock would be able to touch the skin, slick with sweat. It would be so cool against his own as their hands accidentally---)

 _“Mi’rann_.” Spock corralled his wayward thoughts with a muttered curse. From his meditation, Spock had the new understanding of what his emotions meant to his well-being. The human side of his psyche was demanding equal attention from the Vulcan side. He would struggle with adapting to this new paradigm. There would be confusion while Spock struggled to suppress some of the more rampant of his newly-acknowledged emotions. This time away from the Enterprise should give him more than ample time to acclimate to this .... regard for Jim Kirk.

Normally his control over his mind and thoughts was absolute; however, he found much to his dismay that it was a long time before Spock could fall into a fitful sleep.

**  
**  
  


* * *

**  
**  


**Part Two**

Spock felt his hand curling into a fist.

The high-pitched cry trailed off, and with it Spock relaxed his fingers, noting the green smear of blood his fingernails left in the palm of his hand.

When Spock had been very small, his mother had been snubbed by some of the Vulcan elders. Spock had been young enough that their prejudice was still baffling to him, and he did not understand why his mother would not allow him to act on the fury he felt on her behalf. “No my fierce little warrior,” she had said, her voice catching. “Karma will get them in the end.” Spock had allowed her to hug him as he greedily breathed in her scent, knowing that his days of hugs and what his mother called “Vulcan cuddles” were almost over.

Spock had researched this “Karma.” He understood why such primitive Terran people would subscribe to it as a system of moral checks and balances, but he did not believe in the concept himself, finding it highly illogical.

As with so many things, Spock was late in discovering the wisdom Amanda had imparted on him before her demise. When one took into account the way Spock had acted; deviously tricking his friend into spending time with him, no matter how much “work” was being done, no matter that Jim desperately needed a break from the ship, and his painfully unrequited....feelings towards the charismatic Captain, it was no stretch of logic to understand that perhaps Spock was reaping the negative benefits of that ancient concept.

For what other reason would Jim spend his days with Spock buried in discovery and science, only to spend his evenings involved intimately with Cross and Powers

The first night, Spock had thought that perhaps one of the scientists were watching a particularly risqué holovid. He would have rolled his eyes had he been inclined towards such blatant emotionalism. Spock had settled in to meditate, pleased with the discovery of the crystallized dilithium they’d made today. There had been a slightly unstable element to it that Jim had discovered before Spock, and Spock had found himself almost smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. Later that evening, when he had heard the low throaty, “Jim”, Spock had frozen, eyes almost comically wide before jumping to his feet, ready to stalk to the bedroom next to him and demand answers: What ... _precisely_...did Jim think he was doing?

He had actually made it to the doors before stopping just short of the triggering mechanism.

With that desperate pitch, Spock knew exactly what they were doing. The realization hit him like a punch: Jim’s room was next to Spock’s. Jim knew how sensitive Vulcan hearing was. Jim had teased him about it earlier in the afternoon when Spock had isolated a different frequency than that produced by the dilithium they knew of. Ergo, Jim knew that Spock would be listening to his intimate encounter and simply did not care.

It was an unspeakably painful realization.

Spock had not slept that night. He could not concentrate enough to meditate, disgusted with his petty jealousy.

As Spock understood the concept, were he truly Jim’s friend he would be happy that the Captain had finally relaxed enough to enjoy a sexual encounter. Nyota had been very clear on what was required of a “good friend”; that of support and understanding. Given that Spock had kept track of Jim’s whereabouts rather obsessively since the Enterprise’s year-long refit on Earth after the disquiet with Khan, he knew that Jim had not spent the night with anyone, aside from Doctor McCoy in what Spock knew was non-sexual in nature. Which was not to say that Jim had not enjoyed anyone sexually, but Spock found that in the absence of irrefutable proof, he could ignore such possibilities and focus on what he could prove. That was only logical.

The next day found Jim in a buoyant mood that Spock found he could not ignore. It had been extremely difficult to lock away his ... opinions on the matter and continue to be the understanding and supportive friend that Jim required.

The second night had been a repeat of the first. Several hours of silence, then a muffled thump against the wall. Spock had glared at the offending piece of architecture as though it had personally wronged him. It was agonizing to realize that Jim quite probably had her up against the wall as he thrust, messily kissing her neck. Her cries were muffled, but the continuous cry of “Jim... Jim... Jim” caused an arrhythmic flutter in his side.

Spock actually contemplated emulating one of the children he’d seen at the Academy’s day care facility by sticking both fingers in his ears, before acknowledging that that would be patently ridiculous. Instead, Spock removed himself to the adjacent room that housed the remainder of their shuttlecraft, and began working on it with such single-minded intensity that when Rick stumbled into the room at 09:00, Spock had already isolated the faulty wiring that had possibly caused the accident. There was a possibility that he was incorrect however, so Spock continued to pull apart wiring, metal, and circuits until he could hypothesize an answer to why the shuttlecraft had crashed.  He made it a point to not see Jim at all that day, and while he could not avoid him completely, he could refocus his mind on the problem at hand; namely, answering Scotty’s questions of what exactly had caused the shuttle’s malfunction.

But tonight? Tonight, Spock was livid. He thought he had been angry when he had strangled the impertinent Cadet who had insulted his mother. He thought he had been angry when he had unleashed all of his control to beat (hurtmaim _kill_ ) the being who was responsible for Jim’s death. Now, looking down at the marks he’d left on his own hand, Spock was unsure if he would be able to control himself. Vulcan hands were inordinately sensitive. The dull pain was intensified given the location of Spock’s self-inflicted wounds.

Tonight, instead of the feminine voice moaning Jim’s name- it was the male. “Ohh, Jim...”

Jim.

Jim was...

Spock realized that his hands were shaking again as he stood, pacing around his small room. His stomach was in knots. The bedsprings next door were squeaking and with each throaty ( _male_!) moan Spock found himself growing more and more furious. It was illogical. Spock did not care.

It had been bad enough when Spock had assumed that Jim didn’t want him because Spock was male. It was painfully worse when Spock realized that Jim just didn't want... him.

A particularly throaty growl sent Spock spinning towards the door, stalking out into the enclosed hangar that held the shuttlecraft. Once there he found that there was no distraction from the constant replay of sounds in his head. He threw himself into the work, rewiring what he could with the tools he had.  Spock found that he could focus on the work that needed to be done for stretches of time, but it was almost impossible to calm his anger and disappointment.

Jim did not want him. Jim would never want him. It was neither supportive nor understanding of him. Spock was not equipped to be a true friend to someone who could act so... inappropriately. It wasn’t just the fact that Jim had been intimate with the two scientists. Spock belatedly remembered even Jim’s doctor had insisted that Jim needed to “get laid,” a colloquial directive that Jim had obviously embraced. It was that Jim had... had...

“Spock?”

Spock whirled, holding onto the laser wrench only by his exquisite reflexes. Jim stood there in sleep pants and a t-shirt, hair still damp from his shower. Spock could see the slightly shiny star-shaped scar left from the newly healed skin from where part of the console had pierced Jim’s skull. Spock’s nostrils flared, attempting to take in the scents of someone else on Jim’s skin. The shower would have obliterated any evidence, and the idea that Jim would seek him out, now, of all times set what control he had gained over his wayward emotions snapping.

“Leave.” Spock barely got the word out. It seemed very loud in the small space afforded by the shuttlecraft.

“What? Spock? What’s the matter?”

“If you do not go, I will remove myself from your presence.” Spock kept his words clipped, his tone cool. It was vitally important that Jim not realize how his actions had compromised Spock emotionally. Spock set aside the tools with fingers that shook only slightly and stood, walking around Jim carefully so that no part of their bodies accidentally touched. It was not easy given the small space afforded by the shuttlecraft’s lack of cargo area. There had been two seats at the front of the ‘craft, near the viewscreen, with a bench behind the two seats. There were approximately two and a half meters from the bench to the back of the ‘craft, with a door near the port side. Spock found that he actually had to shift his body sideways, as Jim was standing in almost the exact center of the space, one hand resting casually on the bench.

“Wait, what?” Jim’s other hand shot out, cupping Spock’s elbow and gripping him hard enough to halt his forward movement. Spock, who had been so intent on leaving before he did something unforgivable, froze, each muscle in his body tensing uncontrollably. “What the hell, Spock?”

“Do not.” Spock forced himself to take a breath. “Cease touching me, Captain.”

Jim, in response, attempted to yank on his arm, trying to turn Spock so that they were face-to-face. Spock stared down at Jim’s fingers on his arm until Jim removed them. “Alright. Sorry. I’m sorry, Spock. Just... what is wrong? Please?”

It was not wise. Spock knew it was not wise but whatever self-control he had claimed appeared to disintegrate when he stared at Jim from mere inches away. They were so close that Spock could feel the puff of Jim’s warm breath against his chin. Spock blinked, attempting to process several things at once: the feel of Jim’s touch against him, the fact that Jim’s eyes were several different shades of blue instead of one, the way Jim’s breath caught when Spock stared down at him.

“C’mon, Spock. Work with me here. Something’s got you so upset that you’re just about to vibrate out of your skin.” Jim licked his lips, a nervous habit that normally Spock could ignore as just one of the thousands of tedious human idiosyncrasies. This time though, Spock found his gaze drawn to Jim’s mouth, to his tongue as it slid slowly over slightly-chapped lips as though magnetized.

Spock stepped into Jim’s space, something dark within him pleased at the helpless sound Jim made when Spock raised his hand and placed it just below his suprasternal notch, feeling the way the younger man swallowed hard, Adam’s apple moving against Spock’s palm. Spock’s fingers were together, with his thumb sticking slightly out, and his hand fit perfectly above Jim’s sternum. The feel of Jim’s skin naked under his fingers caused Spock to shiver slightly. It was as though a low-grade electrical current had arched from Jim’s skin to Spock’s own.

Spock saw that Jim was both confused and startled, his mouth opening and closing with the shock of Spock’s touch. Spock took advantage of Jim’s silence to bend forward slightly and kiss at the soft patch of skin under Jim’s ear. The scent was rich enough that Spock thought he could almost taste it. Almost, but not quite. He bent forward even more, stroking the tip of his nose against Jim’s skin, inhaling deeply.

Ah.

There it was. After three days in a small structure, Spock knew the scent of Rick Powers as well as he knew himself. Disappointment and disgust was a hard ball in his abdominal cavity. The man’s scent smelled slightly sour, bitter- like bile. It was faint, and the scents of Jim and the soap from his shower were much stronger, yet Spock could not help the way he jerked back away from Jim, a reflex of betrayal he could not control.

Jim must have assumed something else because he followed, bringing their lips together with a crash of teeth and a breathless moan of Spock’s name.

Spock prided himself on being a creature of logic. Yet, at the taste of Jim’s mouth, longed for after so long, he snapped. Spock heard Jim’s shocked cry as he pushed Jim back against the bulkhead of the shuttlecraft, caging him in with his own body. Spock could taste nothing in Jim’s mouth but the mint of toothpaste, and the idea that Jim had had to wash the evidence of his intimacy with Rick made Spock lose the tenuous control he had on his desire. All he could think of was to rid Jim of that other man’s stink, to overwhelm him with Spock’s own scent.

For his part, Jim kept up, kiss for frenzied kiss. When Spock ripped the drawstring of Jim’s sleep pants in his haste to wrap the fingers of his other hand around Jim’s erection, Jim only moaned, hitching his leg up around Spock’s hip. Spock pulled his mouth away from Jim’s, pleased with the breathless, dazed look on Jim’s face. It showed that he had been just as lost in the intensity of their kiss as Spock had been. He followed Spock’s mouth with his own to recapture the contact and Spock tightened the fingers on Jim's neck slightly, holding Jim’s head in place. His other hand paused on Jim’s hip, teasing just under the loosened waistband.

“I require your acquiescence.”

It seemed as though Jim struggled with blinking open his eyes enough to focus on Spock’s face. He licked his lips again (Spock ignored the shudder that crawled down his spine at the look of Jim’s red and swollen mouth) and had to try twice before his voice worked. “Wh- what?”

“Attend, my Jim. Do you want--”

Jim interrupted with a “Fuck. Yes, of _course_ ,” launching himself forward enough to kiss Spock again. Spock moved his hand from Jim’s neck, sliding it around the back of Jim’s head to pull his hair, positioning Jim’s head so the long column of skin was fully bared to Spock’s teeth, lips and tongue. Jim moaned again, a mangled attempt at Spock’s name. The sound pleased something dark and primal in Spock’s katra and he continued with his other hand inching below the cloth to the naked skin below.

_My Jim._

Spock shook his head hard enough that his bangs fluttered around his head, trying to ignore how inappropriate the “my” had been, instead shifting his body so that he was closercloser _closer._ There was just barely enough room for Spock to wrap his fingers around Jim’s length. Spock nuzzled his nose near Jim’s clavicle, pleased that he could no longer detect the smell of anyone else on Jim’s skin.

Jim froze at Spock’s touch, sucking in a deep breath. Spock felt Jim’s hands scrabble at Spock’s uniform, but Spock simply held both of Jim’s wrists against the bulkhead with his free hand, unwilling to have Jim distract him at this time.

Jim made a strangled sound at that, staring at Spock like he’d never seen him before. Seeing him like this, it was difficult for Spock to remember why this encounter was not a logical idea. Jim’s body was arched into Spock’s, his leg still wrapped tightly around Spock’s hip, although it had shifted down slightly enough that he could feel the muscles of Jim’s calf against his upper thigh, under his buttocks. Jim’s shirt had rucked up, baring the tan, sculpted muscles of his abdomen. Spock felt Jim press half-heartedly against Spock’s firm grip on Jim’s wrists, more to test Spock’s strength than anything else. Every muscle in Jim’s body showed how much he wanted Spock to touch him.

“Spock... _please_.”

Spock bit back a groan and bent his neck to kiss Jim again, moving his fingers as well as he could. Even with the forgiving material of the sleepwear, the angle and their closeness gave Spock little room to maneuver. Jim jerked his head away to bite his lip, and Spock almost frowned, wanting the helpless sounds Jim made. Spock could not see what his hand touched, but it was easy to imagine the girth and length. It was hot, and hard and wet at the tip from just Spock’s meagre attention. Jim attempted to rock forward into Spock’s hand, but Spock simply shifted into the movement so that he controlled Jim’s pleasure.

Jim made a strangled sound before his penis hardened slightly, then caught his breath, fingernails digging slightly into Spock’s forearm as he ejaculated. Spock had to exert rigid control of his own faculties before he began grinding against where his own erection pressed into Jim’s hip. He did not wish to gain completion at this time, but it was much more difficult than he had anticipated to pull himself from the heat from Jim’s body. Given that the act of wishing was wholly inappropriate to one of his race, Spock still found himself wishing that he had perhaps not reacted with such... emotionalism.

He pulled away, reaching calmly to clean his hand on his own regs. Jim’s eyes fluttered and Spock found his posture relaxing slightly for the barest of instants as he took in the visual of Jim Kirk recovering from orgasm. Jim’s mouth was still swollen, there were two small contusions from Spock’s mouth on the pale skin of Jim’s neck. His eyelids were heavy with satisfaction and his hair stood up at odd angles from the way it had rubbed against the bulkhead. Spock assumed his normal carriage when Jim sighed and opened his eyes, full mouth stretching into a rather asinine-looking grin.

“Christ, Spock. I don’t know what that was--”

“I find that highly improbable,” Spock raised an eyebrow, “as all evidence to the contrary certainly shows that you have more than a passing familiarity with sexual congress.”

Jim snorted. “Careful there, Spock. I might think that you’re pissed off.” He shook his head before stepping towards Spock.

His grin turned into something much more sexually charged; something that had Spock received on at any other occasion he would have....

“No. However, I have duties elsewhere.” Spock turned abruptly on his heel and walked quickly back to his quarters. He noticed that his fingers were shaking slightly as he replayed every moment of their encounter in his head. Spock ignored Jim’s startled exclamation and moved through the main area of the structure, heading for his quarters.

Instead of opening as Spock had expected (indeed his body had already leaned forward in anticipation) the door remained closed. Spock frowned and quickly typed in his access code, only to freeze over the threshold once the doors actually opened.

Spock was dimly aware of the fact that Jim had ran up behind him on almost silent feet, but he still found himself stymied by the two people currently occupying his quarters.

Cynthia wore regulation Science officer Starfleet Regs. She had twisted her blonde hair under a short black wig black of hair with very straight bangs. She turned to stare at Spock (and assumedly Jim from over Spock’s shoulder) with her face pale with horror. One could assume that her acute embarrassment was due to the fact that she had been rather enthusiastically penetrating Rick, who was naked from the waist down and bent over on all fours in the center of Spock’s duvet with a bright green phallic-shaped object. Rick wore the Captain's yellow uniform shirt and was just now realizing that Cynthia had stopped in her attentions. He turned slowly towards the doorway, blond wig askew, face turning a quite alarming shade of red as he realized that he and his ... lover... had been caught _In flagrante delicto_ by the very beings of which they were impersonating.

Cynthia and Rick remained frozen, tangled together on his bed, but that was not what had caused Spock to stand there woodenly, barely even blinking. It was the rapid-fire realization of just exactly what it was that Spock must have heard that had sent him into the foolish confrontation with Jim. Spock attempted to repress the thought as he stepped back so that the door could close, turning on his heel and moving blindly towards the common area of the main room. He firmly ignored the brush of his body against Jim’s, staggering once as vertigo overwhelmed him for a moment. Spock’s stomach lurched. He frowned, temporarily distracted.

“Uh. So that was weird right? I think that was weird.” Jim sounded like he was just barely controlling the desire to break into raucous laughter. The sound of Jim’s voice caused Spock to close his own eyes as though pained. Spock abruptly turned direction again, heading for the labs. The vertigo could be explained by several occurrences, but it occurred to Spock, rather belatedly, that he had been so infuriated by the perceived slight from Jim that he had not completed a systems check in several hours.

He was despicable.

“Spock... uh. You okay?”

Spock looked down at his hands, clenching on the metal housing of the padd he carried. It cracked and spidered in his hands. The metal had warped as though it was made from thin cloth into the shape of his clenched fingers. He carefully set it aside then attempted to flex them so that feeling would come back to the sensitive digits. He noted absently that there was a small dried crust of Jim’s semen on his cuticle and felt such a wave of guilt that he found himself staggering again.

“Negative. I am... not.”

“Whoa, are you okay? I know seeing that is kind of upsetting? And gross. I mean, dude needs to wax that ass. He looks kind of like a tribb--”

Spock whirled, staring at Jim. Jim actually took a step back, raising his hands placatingly. He sucked in breath to speak, only to have the klaxon of a red alert blare through the building.

He and Jim’s heads whipped to the lab, moving in tandem.

“Shit! What the hell?”

Spock’s gaze quickly took in the readings that all four of them had been much too distracted to pay attention to. “Core temperature reached, It appears the dilithium deposits have become unstable, Captain.”

As if in answer, the very planet heaved and pitched, sending the two of them crashing into each other. Spock’s reflexes were as quick as always, quickly flipping so that he covered Jim’s fragile body with his own. The lab equipment cracked as the long, rending cry of the very foundations broke apart. Spock turned, hanging onto Jim as the floor broke apart, huge plumes of steam breaking through the torn metal and concrete of the floor. The walls, spiderwebbed with cracks, started to crumble, and Spock knew he must act fast.

There was a pained scream from the other room. Spock paused for a brief moment to picture the schematics of the outpost. It was not a standard Starfleet operation, but certain safety protocols were universal. There would be escape pods, if the seismic activity had not damaged them. Spock eased up off of Jim, speaking quickly. “You must get to the escape pod, Jim. I will get the other two.”

“Are you fucking _crazy_?! I’ll get the two--”

“I can move much more efficiently.” Spock whirled, moving quickly towards his bedroom, believing that there would be time. Jim swore behind him, but moved carefully towards the pods, dodging around both debris and cracks in the surface. He was coughing, covering his mouth with the back of his arm and Spock knew that the air purification system was failing, along with the rest of the life support. The structure could not withstand the force of the shivering planetary seismic event. Jim had clearly followed his instructions, and the realization that he would be safe away from this chaos gave Spock the strength to make it back to the two foolish humans.

He had to pry the doors open.

Cynthia was holding Rick on her lap, hunched over his head and torso with her own body. They had moved to the wall of the en suite, huddled under a flimsy table. Rick was unconscious, bleeding heavily from a scalp wound. Cynthia was whispering to him, begging him to wake up. With one hand she had covered the wound with her hand to protect it. With the other, she had also grabbed Spock’s padd and was presumably attempting to sync it to do what she could to stave off the inevitable crash of the life support system. They were trapped. The wall had caved in, separating the two of them from the rest of the outpost proper. There was space for Cynthia to wiggle through, but she was clearly unwilling to leave without her lover.

Spock braced himself against the structure, testing it for susceptibility. “Hand him to me. If we are careful, he will fit through this space. We must move quickly.”  

The woman looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. She was still wearing the dark wig of hair, cut like his own Vulcan style. “Oh. Thank god. Oh thank you god. Please. Get him out of here. It’s the dilithium!”

Spock would have rolled his eyes if he could have spared the time. Between the two of them they carefully maneuvered Rick through the space, Spock slung him over one shoulder, then stuck his arm through the space in order to help Cynthia through. “It is imperative we move with all possible haste.”

Before they made it through the small space Spock had created by forcing open the doors, another heave of the planet's surface sent them both staggering to their knees.

“Shit!” Cynthia cursed. Spock simply concentrated on getting both he and Rick through the doors, staying low to the ground as he moved to the pod storage area, only to stop abruptly when he saw that Jim had not obeyed his directive. Jim had clearly started the launching sequence, waiting for Spock to arrive.

“The other one is toast. Come on, if you’re coming. We can all fit if we squeeze in.” Jim had bitten his lip in his nervousness and it was that more than anything that caused Spock to push the woman forward, only to crowd in after her with Rick’s unconscious form. Jim did not wait for them to make themselves comfortable; with a few quick taps of his fingers on the small console, he sent the little pod into space.

* * *

**  
**  


**Part Three**

“Commander, with me.”

Spock drew his body to attention, taking comfort in the familiar movement. He tugged slightly on his uniform shirt, then stood to follow the Lieutenant Commander to the Commander’s ready-room. Starbase 45-B was not large enough to have a Captain present, yet Spock felt no less reprimanded for all that he ranked the officer he followed.

“Commander Clarke wants to debrief. He’s already met with the Captain, so this should go pretty quickly. Just through there, sir.” He pointed, which was unnecessary given that there was only one doorway at the end of the corridor.

Spock nodded, walking through the doors and standing at rest just inside. A rather bored-looking, portly officer stood and came around the desk to shake Spock’s hand, remembered just in time that Spock was Vulcan and stood there rather awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“Please, sir. Have a seat.”

“My preference is to stand.”

“Oh! Well, of course. As you like,” Clarke coughed again. “Well, we can just get started then. I believe Captain Kirk said that the Enterprise was due to arrive tonight around 19:00, so best get a move on, eh?” Clarke smiled a little sickly and began.

The mention of Captain Kirk caused Spock’s heart to speed up in his side. Since their rescue, Spock had successfully kept from contact with his Captain. When Jim had asked for an audience, Spock had responded with his need to meditate, and that he wished not to be contacted further. Jim had acquiesced, as he had always done. Yet, Spock had found it almost impossible to calm his mind enough to meditate.

He had behaved in no way becoming of an Officer.

However, before he had left his quarters for the debrief, Jim had sent him a message:Don’t you dare, Spock. We will discuss this fully upon our return to the Enterprise.

Coded for his eyes-only, and under so many firewalls and protections that Spock was astounded that it wasn’t flagged for that reason alone, it was clear that the Captain’s patience with avoidance had worn thin.

“This is Commander Clarke, Starbase 45-B. Requested Debrief of the planet Drema V and subsequent destruction.” Clarke barely flinched at the mention of the planet’s destruction, and Spock imagined that Jim would have had much to say regarding the Commander’s tactlessness. “Commander Spock, describe the situation which caused you to be on the planet.”

Spock inhaled and straightened his shoulders even further. “Upon realization that the Captain--”

“That would be Captain James T. Kirk, correct?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “To which other Captain would I refer? You are aware of my appointment, are you not, Commander?”

“Hmm.” He tapped a few things on his padd. “Continue.”

“I shall endeavor to do so.” Spock waited, making certain that the Commander was not going to interrupt him again with pointless interjections. “Upon realization that Captain James T. Kirk, of the starship Enterprise and recently of the planet Earth,” Spock paused for a moment, noting that the man’s blush signified his understanding of the small verbal salvo, before continuing. “had been showing signs of exhaustion, the Chief Medical Officer and I discovered a small assignment that the Captain could complete, yet be away from the day-to-day stresses of the ship. Studying the dilithium on Drema V was not a tactical priority, yet it was fascinating enough that it would capture the Captain’s interest.”

“Hmm. Continue.”

“Our shuttle malfunctioned, and the Captain was grievously injured. Using a comm link with Dr. McCoy, I was able to stabilize the Captain’s injuries. He recovered adequately and spent part of his attention with scientists Powersl and Cross.”

“Part of his time?”

“Affirmative. Both the Captain and I continued to attempt to discover how the shuttle had malfunctioned.” Spock found himself needing to concentrate very precisely on his words. As he’d done for the thirty-four hours that they had been on the starbase, Spock continued to not acknowledge what he had done with the Captain on the tiny shuttlecraft. Whenever his control slipped, Spock found that the almost incomprehensible wave of guilt and shame at his behavior threatened to overwhelm his senses. “Our findings were inconclusive, but our progress was recorded and sent to the Chief Engineer for his perusal as per regulations.”

“Continue.”

“Through a series of uncontrollable circumstances, the dilithium was not monitored at a critical moment; the chemical composition of the crystals reacted negatively and a significant seismic event occurred, necessitating the abandonment of the outpost.”

“Yeah, I’d say. The whole planet practically imploded! The records from the escape pod showed the whole thing. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Just-- _brrrkkkkkkhhh_...” Commander Clarke mimed an explosion with his hands. “Just... crazy.”

Behind his back, Spock gripped his opposite wrist so tightly that the sharp spike of pain when his nails dug into his flesh centered him, and forced him not to react. This officer was hardly the first member of Starfleet to be so tactless, and he would hardly be the last. It was illogical to react with such anger, yet Spock was momentarily helpless in its wake.

“Indeed.”

The Commander tapped at his padd, then frowned down at something. “Okay, Captain Kirk said that it was kind of a weird accident, that none of you had really worked in shifts. That it was more of a ...” he tapped something else and Jim’s voice filled the small ready room.

“No, there weren’t shifts. Spock and I were ... in the shuttle, and Cross and Powers were busy elsewhere. It wasn’t a case of someone shirking his or her duty because there were no duty rosters or anything. We kept it informal.”

Clarke’s voice came over the recording. “So if you had to put someone at fault for this tragedy-”

There was a snort. Spock could easily imagine Jim’s big, fake smile, the one he reserved for anyone in the admiralty he didn’t particularly care for, the one that was both disparaging and disingenuous while seeming as though Jim had their full respect. “Listen, Commander Marks--”

“Clarke.”

“Uh huh. Clarke.” Spock knew that Jim had not truly forgotten that man’s name. “Well, I just said that it was no one’s fault. But, if you need to pick a scapegoat, pick me.”

“Hmm. Interesting. You want to be at fault? So either you are looking for yet more media attention, or you’re protecting your buddy. Hmm. You said that you and your subordinate were in the shuttle, yet the logs show no indication of any work performed. Can you explain that?”

“No.”

Clarke tapped the padd. The recorded version of Jim’s voice cut off. Clarke sat down at his desk chair, swinging up his feet onto the desk. It looked to be severely straining his lumbar region, a fact he ignored as his smug smile stretched his too-fleshy lips. “So, same question, Mr. Spock.”

“Commander Spock.” Spock raised an eyebrow. It was quite clear why Jim had been so insolent to the man.

“I demand to know who is going to answer for the blatant loss of life!”

Spock blinked. “To which loss of life are you referring?”

Clarke crossed his arms behind his neck. “Your actions, or, rather your inactions caused an entire planet to implode.” His smirk turned quite smug. “Although, I suppose you’re used to that, eh?”

Spock had heard the term ‘seeing red’, utilized when a human was compromised so emotionally that anger took over all reason. It suddenly came to him with utmost clarity exactly what was meant by the colloquialism. It was only the barest possibility that Jim’s reputation could be harmed if he reacted that kept Spock’s fury in check. Without speaking, Spock did a sharp about face and left the room. He ignored Clarke’s furious summons, both verbally and on his comm to return.

Dimly, Spock noticed that crewmembers were flattening themselves to the bulkhead on either side of the corridor as he strode quickly towards the lifts. Once inside, he forced himself to stop, to breathe deeply and attempt to gain some sort of control over his emotions. Spock removed himself to his temporary quarters, eyes flicking absently to the chronometer on the door’s control. It was simple to lock the door. He entered a code and crossed to the corner, standing motionless for a moment while he attempted to control himself.

“Uh, Spock?”

Spock whirled, startled. Jim stood there in the corner near the miniscule replicator frowning in concern.

Jim’s proximity at this time was not optimal. Spock opened his mouth to tell him such when Jim held up both hands placatingly, taking a cautious step forward. Seeing that Jim was once again nervous around him caused Spock’s anger to leave him so abruptly that his stomach felt a little sick.

“Wait. Wait, before you kick me out. I just. Just give me ten minutes, tops? Please? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Spock thought that for one moment he would be ill. Seeing Jim act this way towards him; realizing that he had given Jim cause to do so was unspeakably painful.

Spock nodded once.

“Look, I’m sorry for invading your privacy and I know it was a shitty thing to do, but what that guy said was completely fucked. I was gonna go down there and kick his ass but I thought you’d be even more pissed. But I do have the recording and I can promise you he won’t be working here for much longer. After Admiral Komack gets done with him, he’ll be lucky if he’s commanding a shit scooper for a Klingon garbage scow.” Jim huffed a frustrated breath. “Look, I know... we have stuff to discuss. Um. If you want to. And Scotty will be docking in twenty minutes, so we don’t really have the time for a talk. But. Uh. I got Bones to give us two days of medical leave.” Jim winced. “Not that I’m making you or anything. I just... if you wanted to talk. We’d uh. Have uninterrupted time.”

Spock reexamined the rushed words in his head, reviewing them for any nuances of anger or sarcasm. As he did so, Jim bit his lip and bent forward, kissing Spock quickly on his lips.

Spock felt as though he had been punched directly in the sternum.

“I know this-” Jim gestured from himself to Spock and back. “-isn’t easy for you. But, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.” Jim’s low voice in his ear caused Spock to blink rapidly, mystified.

“Jim.” Spock reached for him, only to have Jim take a large step back.

“No time, Spock. But... we’ll talk, okay? Promise.”

Spock found himself nodding, his lips still tingling with Jim’s touch. He wasn’t certain if he was meant to be promising, or if Jim was in actuality promising him, but either seemed just as shocking.

Jim’s lips twitched, and he actually winked as he broke Spock’s authorization code almost as an afterthought, leaving with a small wave.

Spock could not control the small, pleased flutter of his heart in his side at not only Jim’s words, but the fact that he had willingly searched Spock out. It was even more astounding that he did not seem to hold any ill regard towards Spock for the way he’d behaved.

Spock went to his padd and saw that he did, indeed have two messages waiting. The first was from Jim, who left a simple reminder of when Enterprise would dock. It was politely worded and timestamped twelve minutes before Spock was to have met the Commander. The second was from McCoy: “We’ll be there in less than half an hour. You have exactly thirty-five minutes to get your damnfool, hobgoblin, pointy-eared ass in my office for a little conversation.” McCoy smiled nastily, eyebrows narrowing. “Consider it more of an order from the Chief Medical Officer than a request.” McCoy even ended the comm in an irate manner, and Spock allowed himself a small sigh. His foolish actions had endangered the Captain. Spock expected no less from Jim’s very best friend and acknowledged that his discussion with Jim would have to wait. He looked around the room and made his way to the transporter bay, moving much more slowly this time.

The Commander attempted to waylay the two of them, blustering about regulations, but Spock took a page out if Jim's book and ignored the rude little man. Jim didn’t often use the clout brought to him from the accolades given from his many heroic endeavors, but when he did slide into his ‘Captain Kirk’ role, people automatically listened. The Commander was no different, especially when Jim looked him directly in the face and casually mentioned his proof of Clarke’s xenophobia. Spock took no little pleasure in watching the way the man darted a panicked look to Spock, as though he had any intention whatsoever of helping him, then attempted to regain control of the situation by ordering them transported to the _Enterprise_.

What a ridiculous human.

*********

Jim sat approximately 3.24 inches closer to him than to Doctor McCoy. Spock found this supremely distracting, especially given that the doctor sat with both arms crossed over his chest with almost perfect military precision. Spock and Jim shared a small couch in Jim’s quarters, while the good Doctor had pulled over a chair so that he could stare directly at them.

“I am not certain I want the kid here for this, Spock. When I said that I wanted to meet with ya, I meant meet with only you. What I got to say ain’t his business.”

Jim opened his mouth to speak, looking mildly horrified. Spock ignored his reaction and spoke clearly, so that there could be no doubt to his wishes on this matter. “I have nothing that I wish to keep hidden from Jim. Given my recent unprofessionalism, I wish Jim be privy to all discussion for the events leading to, during, and leading from our endeavors on Drema V.“

The doctor’s eyebrow rose.

Spock’s echoed the movement.

“Aw come on guys, I can’t make my eyebrows do that. Look, Bones, once we tell you why the dilithium wasn’t being monitored... well I mean, not even you can get mad, then with what happened after when Spock debriefed on the starbase . It’ll fire up even your grouchy ass. And Spock, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t owe me anything. I know that you value your privacy, and don’t want to infringe.”

“Ain’t that sweet.” McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Your presence is not unwelcome, Jim,” Spock said, speaking over McCoy’s tedious opinion.

McCoy held up a hand. “Okay if you two start that crap we’ll be here all year. I know you’re both on medical leave,” he emphasized, making air quotes, “but some of us have shit to do. So. Here goes. Spock, I commed your dad.”

Spock froze, refocusing his gaze from the slope of Jim’s neck to McCoy’s eyes.

“Yep. Unfortunately, M’Benga, the only expert we have on Vulcan biology is on maternity leave, and I was afraid that she’d remove my balls if I tried to find her with a question, and frankly your dad is less terrifying. So here’s the thing. I was a little worried about you, to be honest. You’ve not been acting right. A little out of your normal ‘hobgobliny’ ways, ya know?”

Spock blinked several times in rapid succession.

“Acting nervous, quick to anger, quicker to... well... emote, and most of it seemed to be centered around the kid, here.” McCoy pointed, and Spock realized that his mouth was slightly unhinged. He shut it immediately.

“So, uh. Spock. Now, I’m sorry to just come out and say this but... I think it’s relevant. Do you think that you can possible be... can it be that time of your cycle?”

“My... cycle?” Spock had the barest moment of trepidation.

“Uh, Bones, I don’t think you--”

“Hush, kid. Yeah, Spock. Your... _Pon Farr_ cycle. Your dad said that--”

Spock felt the heat as his ears turned alarmingly green. Several responses went through his head almost simultaneously; many of which involved maiming the good Doctor in some way, shape, or form.

“Uh, Bones...”

“Hush, Jim, damnit.” McCoy leaned forward, ticking points off his fingers. “You’ve been angry. Well, anger has always been your thing, but it’s on the surface almost all the time. You said you were having trouble concentrating. You were close to a blood fever, by your own admission, again involving Jim. And uh. You have been more inclined towards violence. Now your dad assured me that this reproductive cycle is a very natural process, experienced by all Vulcans of age, and that if you’re a little more moody than usual, oh and we might need to get you back to---”

“Doc. Tor. Mc. Coy.” Spock enunciated every syllable with careful precision; it seemed imperative that he make himself perfectly understood. Thankfully, McCoy finally ceased speaking. “I am not experiencing _Pon Farr_.”

“How do you know?”

Jim made a sound that Spock was 98% certain was either a laugh or indicative of the imminent collapse of one of his internal organs.

“My half-human heritage ensures that I will not experience _Pon Farr_. I am sterile. Given that my conception was not natural, I am certain even you are aware of the highly different reproductive systems of both humans and Vulcans Dr. McCoy- Dr. M’Benga has postulated, and indeed her subsequent hypothesis corroborated by no fewer than twelve highly respected reproductive specialists located at medical research centers on seven different planets, that while I am sexually mature, reproductively, my ‘time’ will not occur.”

Spock chanced a quick glance over towards Jim, who indeed appeared to be biting both of his already chapped lips.

“ _Hnnhn_. See, your dad said you might say that.”

Spock only just managed not to roll his eyes.

“Then that other you butted in and said that it was much more likely that you were suffering from a poorly aligned bond.”

Spock, who had begun to respond before McCoy had finished, froze again. The air felt as though it had ceased existing in his lungs. Spock cocked his head, taking stock of his inner self, ignoring Jim and Dr. McCoy for the moment. A malaligned bond? That was... shockingly possible. Probable, given his inability to meditate properly, something that he had not shared with Doctor McCoy.

McCoy shifted in his seat, his face appearing solemn. One small part of Spock’s mind realized that McCoy had compared _Pon Farr_ to the human female reproduction cycle on purpose in order to elicit an emotional response from him, while the larger part of his mind sifted through the bonds his mind held.

He had no mating bond, and no need for a betrothal bond.

His father? Familial bond, not as strong as before. Spock did not fault his father from, as Nyota said, ‘pulling away’ from Spock after his mother’s death. Sybok might as well not have a bond with him at all, given the amount of time they actually communicated.

The space for his mother’s half of their bond was achingly, agonizingly, empty.

He did have several potential bonds of friendship, but none currently as strong as his former bond with Nyota. It had faded to a gossamer strength after ending their intimate connection. Realizing that it was weak was unspeakably painful, as though Spock only now realized how much he had failed her.

Spock opened his eyes, only to find McCoy and Jim staring at him with eerily similar looks of concern.

“My counterpart’s hypothesis is not ... without merit. Traditionally, before Vulcan’s destruction, all of a young Vulcan’s bonds were familial, or for mating.” Spock made a mental note to inform his father, and his counterpart of his distress. If it was happening to him, then it must be happening to others of his race. “The concept of friendship is not widely recognized, so one may postulate that most Vulcans do not experience bonds of that nature. I am lacking.... in--”

“Spock, I’ll bond with you.” Jim blurted, reaching out to touch Spock’s arm. He shifted so that the line of his thigh pressed warmly Spock’s. “I... As your... your friend. Your family.”

“I have no desire for a familial bond or bond of friendship with you--”

“Hey now wait just a damn--!” McCoy interrupted, looking from Jim’s face to Spock’s.

“--because you are not only my family. You are not only my friend, Jim. I would--”

Jim made a small sound, his eyes seeming to soften as Spock’s words penetrated his understanding. McCoy, too, made a sound that Spock recognized as faintly horrified.

“Look, I really think this isn’t the place for this. I think I’m gonna go on back to my office,” Spock found McCoy’s mutter and subsequently hasty exit perfectly timed. Spock did not know why he had not thought of this before. Indeed, he had no certainty of Jim’s regard, yet he found it impossible to not speak honestly towards the man who had become everything to him.

Spock straightened, holding his first two fingers out towards Jim who sat biting his lip, foot tapping restlessly against the surface of the floor.

“I wish to join with you, Jim. Not only as family, because you are that. Not only as friend, because you are that too. Something more.”

Jim’s gaze cut to Spock’s fingers and to Spock’s astonishment, he copied the movement, stroking their fingers together. “I uh. Did some research. This is a traditional sign of affection between Vulcans and their... their mates.”

Spock had trouble controlling the shiver the stroke of Jim’s fingers produced.

“And... I’m pretty sure I figured out what pissed you off. If your head is all wonky, you tended to let your human side rule rather than your Vulcan side, huh?”

That was an apt a descriptor as anything other hypothesis Spock had endeavored to prove.

 

“That does not excuse my actions. I had no claim on you, and I behaved abhorrently; allowing petty jealousy to mar our first encounter of a sexual nature. I believed you capable of such hurtful manipulation that I am ashamed of my thoughts, Jim.”

Jim pulled away slightly, changing his grip on Spock’s hand to lightly wrap his forefinger and thumb around Spock’s wrist, as though he needed to think but couldn’t bear to break away from Spock completely.

“You were kind of a dick, but believe me if you had tried to leave that shuttlecraft I would have jumped you. Although... and I cannot stress this enough... I thought the same thing about you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim’s thumb made several passes over his pulse-point.

Spock found this immensely distracting.

“I heard them having sex. I mean, I couldn’t hear anything distinct. Just a moan, or whatever. I thought it was you and I was so fucking pissed, Spock. You don’t even know. I couldn’t even look at you the next day. Then I heard it again, and came storming out of my room to the shuttle, only you were there. Then... I didn’t think much of anything except how much I wanted you to keep doing what you were doing.”

“Your misconception does not excuse my own abysmal behavior, Jim.”

Jim shifted his body again on the couch, holding onto Spock’s wrist. He brought Spock’s wrist up to his lips and Spock gasped when Jim kissed him softly on the curve of his first finger. The brush of Jim’s lips was unspeakably erotic.

“Yeah, it kind of does. I uh. I had no idea that you felt this way about me. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I was unfamiliar with the protocols of such a nature.”

“But- Didn’t Ny--uh. I mean--”

Spock appreciated Jim’s attempt to spare his feelings, but it was not necessary. “Nyota pursued me once I was no longer her professor, or her advisor. It was... rather. I believe the term ‘a whirlwind romance.’” Spock watched Jim’s mouth tighten slightly in clear distress and blinked, organizing his thoughts. “Nyota was my friend.”

“--Was?! Spock...”

Spock tightened his hold, briefly enough that Jim ceased speaking. “You must understand that Nyota is exceptionally careful of Vulcan cultural norms. I understand that compared to fully human relationships, ours moved quite slowly. I had never had an intimate connection with another individual, and she had never had an intimate connection with a Vulcan.”

“So.. you both had a lot to learn?”

“Affirmative, Jim. Nyota once said that she knew all about Vulcan cultural norms, and she knew all about human cultural norms, but occasionally she could not gauge how I would react to a given situation; if I would respond as a “human” or as a “Vulcan.” I understand it is the normal progression for a relationship of that nature. I believe that you experienced something quite similar when you referred to ‘my human side’ before going into Starfleet Headquarters prior to Harrison’s act of terrorism. During the events prior to our mission to Kronos, and the subsequent results of your death and the near destruction of the Enterprise, perhaps because of our connection, she understood ... how I had begun to feel about you before I did. My response was ... enlightening.”

“Your response?”

Spock shifted, bending over and gently brushing the tip of his nose against the strong line of Jim’s jaw. Spock inhaled, and it was Jim’s turn to gasp in reaction. Spock could smell Jim’s scent: slightly clean sweat emitting an intoxicating bevy of subtle pheromones that Spock remembered from the damaged shuttle on Drema V. He inhaled again. Spock found it was problematic to remember exactly what he had wished to say. Spock brushed his lips just under Jim’s ear, where the scent was quite strong and then forced himself to pull away.

Jim had closed his eyes, and Spock watched them open slowly, focusing almost as an afterthought. The pupils had enlarged significantly, almost obscuring the blue. Jim’s breaths had increased in both number and heaviness, and his face was flushed in the most pleasing manner. Spock found it very difficult to not simply lean in again to taste Jim’s lips. He swallowed hard, and took a deep, calming breath.

“You held your hand to the glass of the core chamber, Jim. Do you remember?” Spock had been quite curious as to the points of Jim’s memory before his death, but had never before found the inclination to pose the query, stymied by the belief that his questions would be invasive or painful. But there could be no dissembling here. Here was only truth.

Jim blinked again and cleared his throat, obviously attempting to concentrate on their conversation. Spock was... pleased... at the knowledge that Jim found him just as distracting as he found Jim.

“No. I’m sorry. I remember your voice, but not the words. You were ... fuzzy. It went in and out though. I remember putting my hand up, and it was almost like you were touching me, but... nothing after that.”

Spock found that he needed a moment to compose himself. He could chose to dim the intensity of images supplied by his eidetic memory, but for several seconds he was flooded with such a stream that he could not help but feel the same emotions he had 1,607 Standard days ago: dismay, grief, loss, agony, rage… love?

“It was unspeakably cruel to realize at that very moment that my regard for you was not mere friendship as I had previously believed; that I thought of you as much... more. I do not believe I will ever forget the sound of your hand falling from that glass, Jim. I could not help you without flooding the entire ship with radiation. I did not care. Had Nyota and Commander Scott not chosen that moment to interrupt my grief, I would have done so. My rage against Khan was absolute. His betrayal had caused your death, and I wished to be the instrument of his.” Spock stopped, unable to look Jim in the eyes. Speaking clearly of the shame he felt at his blatant disregard of anything resembling logic still filled him with a complex tumble of emotions he could not readily identify, but none of them made him proud.

Jim did not force him to go on, instead waiting patiently. After a moment he continued lightly tracing Spock’s fingers with two of his own.

Spock heard his own shaky breath and continued. “Nyota knew then that the emotions I experienced at your death, at Khan’s capture, and after the reversal of your.... death-”

Jim wrinkled his nose, interrupting. “Man, that still sounds weird. But that’s better than ‘my resurrection’ or ‘the brief circumstance of my unfortunate demise.’”

“-were, in her words, ‘more than you had ever felt for me.’ She ended our relationship, and we have not resumed our association.”

“Oh. Well, I can help you with that, if you want. I hate the thought of both of you not being friends with each other.”

Spock blinked. “Indeed? You would not feel... conflicted?”

“You mean jealous?” Jim licked his lips, a nervous habit that Spock found no less distracting than the gentle feel of Jim’s callused fingers on his own. “Well, that depends. Do you.. uh. want me? Want a relationship with me, I mean. A sexual, only-me, only-you relationship?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “I do not care for the thought of you sharing intimacies with another.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re in agreement there, so: I won’t feel jealous of your friends, Spock. Now that I know how dumb I was being- how, ah... dumb we were being, I can’t imagine that you’d ever give me any cause not to trust you. If you want this...” Jim gestured from his chest towards Spock and back again, “ I want this too.”

Spock felt such an intense flood of emotion that he knew the only way to possibly contain it was to show Jim physically how much those words meant to him. He leaned forward again, only to find that Jim had anticipated his desire, tilting his head and raising his lips to Spock’s. This kiss was what none of their predecessors had been. Jim made a low sound, deep in his throat as Spock cupped his head, burying his fingers in the short blonde hair, anchoring them together. Their tongues slid against each other’s; Spock could feel Jim echoing everything he did, every move of his mouth, every press of his lips. Eventually though, lack of oxygen forced them apart, and it was Spock’s turn to moan when Jim slowly slid his lips up the curve of Spock’s ear.

Spock felt his penis jump in the confinement of his trousers and shuddered slightly. Encouraged, Jim sucked on the tip of Spock’s ear, and Spock’s fingers spasmed helplessly in Jim’s hair. His penis thickened and he could feel it become wet at the tip. The probability of him staining his undergarments increased exponentially.

To be so undone by such a simple thing was humbling. Spock gently disengaged himself and moved slightly away, only to bring his lips crashing back down onto Jim’s, a little too forceful and a little too desperate, wanting Jim to feel the same way as he felt. Spock slid his fingers down the strong column of Jim’s neck, brushing over the musculature of Jim’s shoulders and biceps, stroking down Jim’s chest over the two uniform shirts.

“Wh- wait a sec.” Jim’s whisper caused Spock to freeze, meeting Jim’s eyes with concern.

He was not... absolutely certain how he had ended up lying on top of Jim on the couch, pelvises rocking together, Jim’s legs wrapped around Spock’s calves while they kissed deeply, but he had absolutely no desire to cause Jim any emotional harm and ceased immediately.

“Jim?” Spock attempted to pull away, but Jim’s legs tightened in reaction, keeping them pressed together.

“Fuck. My timing is.... look. Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure we should be having sex right now? If your head is all... uh... broken?”

Spock tilted his head, eyebrow raising in confusion. Several thoughts ran through his head and he found himself strangely comforted by the realization of Jim’s meaning. “My misaligned bonds- if that is indeed what troubles me, and I cannot know for certain until I have meditated fully- does not function like a person who is under the influence. I am here-” Spock bent down and quickly kissed Jim’s lips- “because I wish to be. Utterly and completely, despite whether or not you agree to bond with me.”

Jim’s smile was incandescent.

“I would feel... I mean, I know it’s not about me or anything, but I really would feel better if you were all the way you before we went any further. I just think that regrets afterward would be...” Jim trailed off with a frown.

Spock felt Jim’s legs fall to the ground. Spock pushed himself up on his elbows, then into a sitting position and smoothed his hair, while Jim did the same so that they were once again more or less presentable. Spock allowed himself a small smile at Jim’s obvious sense of relief, and nodded.

“If that is your wish, I will endeavor to meet your needs, Jim.” Spock moved to the floor, slightly away from Jim on the couch, using the small space in front of Jim’s bed. Jim shifted in his seat, making an inquiring sound and Spock turned to him.

Jim’s brow crinkled as he thought. “Wait, you can go from uh... Aroused to meditation in just a few seconds like that?”

Spock allowed himself a small smile, which clearly delighted Jim, as evidenced by the way his entire face lit up with obvious joy. “I did not say that it would be a simple feat. Indeed,” Spock flicked his gaze down at the bulge in his trousers, “this does likely pose a problem to my equilibrium.”

With that he closed his eyes and began to meditate, ignoring Jim’s bright bark of a laugh.

Spock slipped into his familiar trance with very little effort.

He saw immediately that his mind had changed. The strands had twined together from the last time he’d meditated, including the emotions that Spock had been too cowardly, or too distracted to acknowledge. It all appeared to rotate together, almost pulsing like an organic being. There was the occasional pulse of light, like it was self-satisfied, as though it had accomplished all of what it wanted to do.

Spock quickly checked for breaks or tears. He had only experienced this sense of comfort once before, many years ago when his mother was still alive. Her death had left his mind like a gaping wound. His father’s subsequent divorce of their tenuous attachment had widened it still further , and Nyota’s estrangement had helped the wound fester. It was healed now, scarred, not perfect but Spock now understood that with both time care the scar would fade.

With this realization, Spock found opened his eyes, staring blindly down at his folded knees. He blinked twice, quickly checking his equilibrium. Spock did not dream like humans did, but he likened the feeling to waking up after a mild nightmare and knowing that he was safe in his living quarters. His mind felt… right. Spock did not know how to better explain it.

Spock heard a soft sound and looked up, only to forget every thought in his head.

Jim was lying on the bed, propped up on pillows so that his body was displayed to its best advantage. Spock did not have a true sense of time while he meditated; yet several minutes must have passed in what seemed like only a few. It would have taken Jim several moments to strip his clothes off, and fold them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. It would have taken several more minutes to arrange the pillows just so, to arrange his body so that Jim could smirk slightly at Spock from his sprawled position. Jim’s hand stroked slowly over his erection, and a fine sheen of sweat lightly coated Jim’s strong, muscled body.

Spock made some sound that was neither Standard nor Vulcan. He did not know the expression that was on his face, but Jim’s eyes darkened, the eyelids half closing with barely-suppressed desire. Jim’s smug expression bled to an answering intensity and Spock was on him, pinning his hands to the pillow above his head. Spock knew that his eidetic memory would never forget that sight; indeed, he had no wish to do so. Jim sighed, almost like Spock’s grip was the only thing he wanted, and leaned up so that Spock would kiss him.

It was no great hardship to do so.

Their tongues met, sliding wetly together, and Spock pressed down firmly on Jim’s wrists taking control of the kiss. Jim only arched in response, and it was Spock’s turn to growl when he felt the wet heat of Jim’s penis pressed to Spock’s stomach. Feeling it caused Spock to ease his weight back onto his heels and knee walk over so that no part of him was touching Jim. Jim started to sit up, but before he could much more than blink in confusion, Spock raised an eyebrow and flipped Jim over.

Jim’s arms flailed for balance, causing him to sprawl in an **X** shape, pillows flying everywhere. Spock found this very pleasing indeed.

“Uh, Spock did I do something wrong?”

“You did not. I wish to taste all of you. Are you amenable?” Spock bent down and brushed his lips over a small scar low on Jim’s back, flicking his tongue against the ridged skin. It was not common for someone to be so scarred, and Spock could see that the damage had been extensive.

“I. Uh... Jesus, Spock. Yeah. Have at it.” Jim waved his hand slightly distracted when Spock bit at one of the deeper ridges of scar tissue, then laved at the spot. Spock knew his control over the muscle was absolute. Given that Vulcans tended to have slightly more texture to their tongues than humans (Nyota had once likened it to a cat and Spock had been quite far from amused.), Spock knew that the way Jim writhed underneath him was not at all contrived. Spock moved his way up Jim’s spine, mouthing not-so-gently over the numerous freckles, the small scars that peppered his back, and the dips and valleys of the musculature of Jim’s strong back. Jim had fisted both hands in one of the pillows. Spock was very pleased by the sounds Jim made, and slowly moved down Jim’s back, licking at his tailbone.

Spock cupped his hands around the globes of Jim’s buttocks and paused, spreading the cheeks apart and cocking his head, attempting to regulate his breathing. As before, Spock found that he had not been aware that he had been the one breathing heavily.

He heard Jim’s muttered, “Aw, shit yeah,” and allowed himself a wide grin before bending to and doing as he said he would- tasting all of Jim. The scent of Jim’s arousal was stronger here, and Spock found himself flicking his tongue one moment, and laving the next. Jim’s voice was hoarse, the words muffled in the pillow as Spock experimented, teasing the small, tight muscle with the tip of his tongue before slowly coaxing it open.

At this, Spock found he had to hold Jim more firmly as he began rocking backwards, seeking out the feeling of Spock’s tongue. Spock pulled away to look at what he accomplished, and saw to his surprise that Jim was holding himself open, balancing with his shoulders on the bed. As Spock moved, Jim turned his head to look back at him. His face was flushed red, lips bitten and reddened, hair plastered to his face with sweat. His eyes seemed very blue, clouded with want, and Spock calmly pulled further away to check his handiwork.

Jim’s rear end was covered in saliva, The small hole loosened slightly. Jim’s fingers left white marks where the blood had left the tightly-held flesh, and Spock calmly wiped his chin, pushing back so he was not on the bed.

“Spuh--” Jim’s voice dissolved into an undecipherable gargle when Spock bent down and slid the very tip of his finger against the rim. He lightly stroked around it, teasing, and Jim collapsed flat onto the bed as though his muscles no longer worked.

That was a quite satisfactory reaction. However, since Spock had no desire to hurt his Jim, he crossed quickly (many would perhaps say... smugly) to the replicator and murmured his request. Silicone-based, and featuring a number of Vulcan herbs, it served as both a sexual lubricant and massage oil, when warmed. That would be more than adequate for their needs.

Spock hurried back and calmly removed his boots, knowing Jim was watching him, peering at him with one dazed eye. Spock removed his shirts, and his trousers, along with his undergarments and stood there naked, lips twitching slightly at Jim’s reaction to his body.

It was quite gratifying.

“God... Spock. Come on. I feel like I’ve been waiting for years.”

Spock clambered back on the bed, making himself comfortable on his stomach, so he could properly see while working Jim open. He did not wish to rush, or to forget any part of this experience.

Jim shifted on the bed and opened his legs, rocking up again so that he was braced on his forearms and knees, giving Spock easy access. Spock grimaced slightly as he adjusted his own penis, attempting to ignore his own arousal so that he could see properly to Jim’s. He was quite hard, and removing his clothing allowed was both freeing and oddly distracting. Spock could smell Jim’s scent, wished only to bury his nose back where it was strongest and take it somehow into himself.

“Jim?”

“Yes. Jesus, fuck yes. Blanket permission to do anything you want, god!” Jim balanced himself on his shoulders again, spreading his buttocks as widely as he could.

Spock found himself becoming very fond of Jim’s propensity to blaspheme. He bent back to Jim’s wet hole and spread it slightly with his thumbs. Jim cried out sharply, and Spock flicked his tongue around the entire rim, ensuring that he had not dried out in the short time Spock had been away. He dipped his first two fingers into the small container and coated them fully, moving so that he could work his first finger inside. Spock pressed his forehead against Jim’s fingers and they both groaned at the action; Spock at the visual of his finger disappearing inside of Jim, and Jim, presumably, at the sensation of taking Spock’s finger. Spock took some time working him open with both his finger and his tongue, then with two fingers, then with three.

By this point Jim was thrusting filthily back onto Spock’s digits, and Spock found that he could not bear to wait much longer. He lipped over Jim’s testicles, until Jim was gasping, groaning a mixture of swear words and Spock’s name.

When Spock finally pulled away, he tangled his fingers with Jim’s to pull him apart, fiercely enraptured by the way Jim’s hole was no longer as tight. He could see the faintest kiss of pink, and could not control a shiver at the way the mix of lube and saliva shone in the lights of Jim’s bedroom.

“Spock?”

Spock blinked rapidly, all at once aware of the passage of time. He allowed himself one more lick, tracing the pointed tip of his tongue around the entire rim before sliding it inside, then pulling sharply back before he forgot himself again.

“Does this position please you?”

“I. I...”

“Jim?”

Jim breathed in a long, choppy breath. He shifted and turned so that he was on his back, and flopped there, flinging his sweaty arm over his eyes. “I’m. I’m fine, Spock. Just... was really close.”

Spock was horribly afraid that his self-satisfied expression would leave little question of what exactly he was feeling at this moment, and ducked his head. He quickly used most of the remaining lubricant on his own penis, wincing at his own sensitivity.

“Come ‘ere?” Jim reached out a shaking hand and Spock took it, allowing Jim to guide him up onto the bed so that both their heads rested on the greatly abused pillow. Jim took their joined hands and placed them on his hip, turning onto his side so that Spock spooned him from behind. Spock quickly stretched his other arm under the pillow, and curled around him, tangling their legs together. Jim moved so that he was in a better position, wiggling so that his buttocks brushed against Spock’s pelvis and they both sucked in sharp breaths at the sensation. Jim raised one leg a little and Spock slid into him slowly. He could not help the way his hand clenched on Jim’s hip, nor the way his mouth dropped open in shock at the feeling of the slick, wet heat surrounding his own hardness. Jim was impossibly tight, and it took some maneuvering until Spock was sheathed fully inside.

“Oh god Oh Spock oh god--” Jim’s whisper broke off abruptly as Spock bottomed out, his own testicles bumping against the curve of Jim’s buttocks. Spock slid his free hand from under the pillow, placing it over Jim’s racing heartbeat.

Spock kept himself from speaking only barely, the _You are perfect, my Jim_ almost rolling off his tongue. Instead Spock managed to keep his vocalization to a simple “Jim.” Spock’s own voice had lowered by two octaves. This prompted Jim to shiver, which caused Spock to thrust reflexively. Spock hooked his chin over Jim’s shoulder and began rocking with minute movements, unable to keep himself still. Jim’s free hand reached back, curling around Spock’s shoulder and resting partially on his neck, fingers buried in Spock’s hair.

Spock moved slowly, and Jim thrust back with a dip of his hips, and they both quickly picked up the rhythm. Spock tugged at Jim’s hand with their entwined fingers, and they both wrapped their hands around Jim’s flushed penis. At that Jim could no longer keep quiet, crying out with every thrust back onto Spock, groaning when Spock echoed the movement with a thrust of his own. Words were much too complicated, but his low growl would have frightened a lesser being. Jim just gripped his fingers more tightly.

Spock could not keep himself from biting lightly at Jim’s shoulder, no more than Jim could keep himself from tugging sharply on Spock’s hair. When Jim froze, arching into the tight thrust of their fingers, Spock’s eyes shut in reaction. Even in this they were together, both cresting into orgasm only seconds behind one another. Spock could feel the hot splash of Jim’s ejaculate onto his curled fingers, and knew that Jim could likely feel his own surge deep inside.

Jim’s heart thundered under Spock’s palm like a small, trapped thing. Spock had barely gotten his own breath back before Jim had turned in his arms, kissing Spock’s mouth with an almost lazy fervor. Every muscle in his body fairly screamed to his relaxed state, and Spock found to his own chagrin that he could easily sleep, as long as Jim was not too far from him.

Spock kissed Jim back, once on his forehead, once on his nose, and once on his lips before pulling away. “One moment, and I will get you a cloth.”

“Mmm,” Jim kissed him once again and allowed him to leave their bed. Spock found that he didn’t much wish to do so, but also desired that Jim be comfortable before sleep, so reluctantly turned to go into the ‘fresher, pulling a towel down. Looking at himself in the mirror, Spock saw that he was covered in sweat and lubricant, and reflected that a shower would not be remiss.

He had just turned on the sonics when two arms wormed their way around his waist, and Spock felt a kiss in the center of his shoulder blades.

“You have all the best ideas.”

Jim quickly flicked the controls from sonic to a standard hot shower, ducking behind Spock as the cold blast of water came out of the shower head. It quickly heated, but Spock turned to glare at a grinning Jim from under bangs quickly flattened by the steamy spray.

“God, I love you so fucking much, Spock.”

Spock found that it was rather difficult to maintain a proper glare when his facial muscles wished to smile, despite his Vulcan discipline. Jim took advantage of his silence by soaping Spock’s penis, cleaning it, and rinsing it off.

“And I, you, my Jim.”

Jim’s grin was positively wicked as he dropped to his knees, ignoring the spray of water as he wrapped his mouth around the head of Spock’s penis.

Much ... _much_... later, the crew members assigned to fix the fist-sized holes in each side of the shower stall’s tile might have questioned exactly what had caused the fissures to crack, but as neither Spock nor Jim particularly wished to enlighten them, it would perhaps remain one of their mission’s unsolvable mysteries.

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**Epilogue**

**::TRANSMISSION: INCOMING::**   


Hello, Mr. Spock! First of all, let me start off by thanking you for your timely rescue. Rick and I have recovered fully, and are pleased to report that our study on the dilithium was saved with Mr. Kirk’s quick thinking. Fortunately, since the planet was so remote, the end of Drema V didn’t cause any other planetary troubles. It did, uh, leave both Rick and I out of a job though. That would have been a complete clusterfuck if we had not turned our scientific endeavors to the creative.

You’ll notice that enclosed with this transmission are two advance copies of our novel! Yeah, it’s the romantic adventures of two heroes, Captain Kirk James and his Vulcan lover S’elek as they travel the galaxy. We’re calling it 50 Shades of Green. It’s totally fictional of course. Anyway, I’m sorry it took us so long to reach you. Mr. Kirk said that you’d love the advance copies though, and he would surely know! I’m sure glad he’s doing better...

Anyway, thanks again. I hope you enjoy the book.

Much love,

Cynthia Cross

**::END TRANSMISSION::**

 

 

 

 

The End!

 

 

 

As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here or on [tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/)!!

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for the zine, even though I could not attend, was a lot of fun. I hope you enjoyed my submission!


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